


My little test subject

by Flower1815



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Blood, Drug Use, Explicit Language, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Medical Procedures, Monster Tom, Original Character(s), References to Depression, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture, slight gore in later chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-19 08:55:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 109,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11894331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flower1815/pseuds/Flower1815
Summary: On his quest for world domination, Tord develops a serum that will turn a man into a giant, horrible monster. But after countless failures, he finally realizes what he was missing to perfect the serum formula all along; and he will help him, willingly or not. Dark and angsty Tomtord fic. WARNING: Torture, blood, foul language, and drug use; viewer discretion is advised.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey what's up guys! This is Flower1815 here! This is a re-upload, there was an error and it got deleted. I apologize for the inconvenience, hopefully it won't happen again. Just to tell you ahead of time because this might have something to do with why this happened; i am the same author. I uploaded this same story on my ff.net account of the same name and on my tumblr @Heather1815. So please don't be alarmed or upset, i am not plagiarizing anything. This is still my story. You can verify by going to the other accounts and ask cause i'll go and tell you the same thing. With that out of the way, i hope you guys enjoy, and i'll see ya all later! ;)

Inside a dark, secluded room; guarded by huge and heavy double doors, screams of rage could be heard. Inside; metal tables were turned, glass was shattered, strange liquids splattered the walls, various types of equipment's were broken and papers were sent flying while being ripped apart. The whole room was a mess. And at the centre of the dark room, illuminated by a swinging, solitary light above his head, is the one responsible for said mess.

He is known by many names. For those who've heard of him, he is the infamous Red Leader; responsible for many invasions and mass shootings across Europe, and backed up by a loyal army of trained soldiers. But for those who got the privilege to know him better, he is simply known as Tord.

Tord was standing in the middle of the room, panting, trying to recover from his fit of rage. He clenched his fists, taking deep breaths while glaring at the walls. Gritting his teeth, Tord ripped out his eyepatch out of anger, and run his robotic hand through his spiky hair.

"Another death, another failure." He hissed under his breath.

Once he deemed himself calm enough, Tord sighed, glancing around the mess he caused. Eyeing the wreckage, he searched for a specific item. He stepped forward, not minding the crunch of broken glass underneath his heavy boots, as he reached out to pick a black journal with his famous, red symbol engraved at the front. He took out the pen hanging from his chest pocket and scribbled down a new entry.

**"Test subject number #1825**

**Name:** Devin Walker.

**Age:** 23

**Gender:** Male

**Nationality:** Danish

**Height:** 5'11. **Weight:** 133 Ibs.

**Blood type:** A+

**Report:** The third soldier to volunteer for these experiments just this month. Was considered healthy and physically fit for them after undergoing several tests, so we strapped him down to the surgical table and applied the serum to his bloodstream. He convulsed and foam came out of his mouth, eyes became white and rolled back; had to be restrained by at least three other soldiers before I applied anaesthetic to stop his spasms. After 76 hours, his body gave out and his flesh decayed; turning him into a zombie. Just like all the others. I took him out of his misery and shot him in the head.

**Status:** Deceased

**Time and date of death:** 17/10/2016 5:30 PM"

Tord slammed the journal shut, gripping his hair hard with one hand. To say he was frustrated with his constant failing work was an understatement, he is beyond furious! _I tried everything and anything, but nothing seems to work! What am I missing?_  He thought, remembering all his past failures and trying to recall any important details.

He was brought back from his deep train of thought when he heard a knock coming from the double heavy doors. "Come in." Tord called out.

Opening the door with ease, Patrick slipped inside the room, carrying a bunch of files and stacks of papers.

"Sir, here are all the files and cases of the previous test subjects you requested." Patrick announces, walking up to Tord and placing the files down on the only table left unturned. He took the chance to look around the room. "Another failure?" He prompted, raising an eyebrow while glancing at the mess with an unamused expression. He and Paul are already used to their leader's rage getting out of hand, no pun intended, so the current state of the room came to no surprise to Patrick.

"Yes, Patrick. Another lost cause, just like all the others." Tord muttered, opening the files and flying through the pages. When he turned to get files, he unintentionally displayed his injured eye. Patrick immediately adverted his gaze away from the sight. Even if he was closer to Tord than most of the other soldiers, Paul and him know better than to stare at Tord without his eyepatch unless they were granted direct permission. "There has to be something I missed, a tiny detail I overlooked; anything to get me closer to perfecting the serum formula!"

"And you think the missing component is somehow inside one of these case files?" Patrick questioned quizzically. "With all due respect, sir, but you were the one who wrote all the test subject reports. If there was any sort of clue in one of them, don't you think you would have found it out by now?"

"I know it's hard to believe, but I know for a fact that I am missing something and the clue is somewhere in here." Tord insisted.

He continued to flip through the files, going all the way back to the very beginning. " **Test subject #1704 – Deceased, subject #1678 – Deceased, #1562 – Deceased….** " He kept on going, reading the files at lightning speed before slamming it shut and moving on to the next. Eventually, Tord grew frustrated and dropped all the most recent cases aside to look at the older files. " **Test subject #126 – Deceased, subject #58 – Deceased, #3 – Deceased….** "

Finally, after what seemed like forever, Tord finally reached the file he was most looking forward to. The very first test subject case file. His first try, his very first failure. Not resisting the anticipation any longer, Tord opened up the case file. Unlike the other files however, where before getting to the details and procedures done with said subject, it always shows a recreation of the serum formula; always different in every single file. One element could have been added, or taken away. But in the first case he did, Tord didn't document the formula. He wanted to punch himself with his metal hand in the face several times for his stupidity. Instead of the formula, Tord wrote down his reasons and intentions for trying to accomplish such feat.

_"Entry #1 Date 12/07/2008_

_After the gang and I returned from our experience in the army, I couldn't shake away the thrill I felt while out on the field, holding a gun and fighting alongside others for an equal cause. I want that. I want more of this. I will create my own army, and we will take over the world where I will rule supreme! But a good leader knows, as well as any soldier should, that you can't expect to win a war with the whole world with just followers and guns alone. I need a secret weapon! Something no one would expect it coming and it's indestructible. Hmmm…"_

Tord made a "tsk" Sound with his tongue, before flipping the page.

_"Entry #2 Date 10/08/2008_

_After many days, I have borrowed several science books from the local public library and studied EVERYTHING. I covered physics, biology, chemistry, psychology, ecology, geology, human biology, zoology and botany; not to mention all the mathematics, theories and engineering. With this knowledge, I started to put it into practice and create a secret lab inside my own room. I even rigged the entire house with secret weapons and security systems! And none of my friends seem to have realize it yet! I'm a genius! Now, onto developing my secret weapon. After many hours of delicate planning, I decided to create a serum. Not one that would improve a soldier's fighting capabilities in the field. But a serum that will make any soldier turn into a monster! They'll become bigger, stronger, faster, and better. I have a slight idea of what kind of monster I want it to be, but I have no guarantee the serum will actually turn the subject into it. I just hope I get this right._

_Now, all I need is a test subject to try it out."_

Tord rolled his eyes, inwardly cringing at his naivety back then. You never succeed in the first try; he should have known that. But he learned his lesson, the hard way. Tord turned the page.

_"Entry #3 date 13/08/2008_

_I put up articles in the newspaper, offering to pay money for anyone who'd subject themselves to my tests. I hope someone calls me soon! The only problem, is getting the volunteer into my secret lab without Edd or the others knowing. I guess I'll just have to sneak them in when nobody else is home."_

Flipped over another page.

_"Entry #4 date 17/08/2008_

_I got a call at last! A guy called Seth volunteered himself to be my guinea pig for my experiments. I agreed to meet up with him on the arcade at midnight, then I took him back home and sneaked him in through the backdoor. Though I was sure the others were sleeping, I didn't want to take any chances and guided Seth to my room._

_Let the tests begin."_

When Tord turned to the next page, he reached the document file about Seth; his very first test subject ever. Below the document, his report was written down.

**"Test subject number #1**

**Name:** Seth Williams.

**Age:** 21

**Gender:** Male

**Nationality:** Russian

**Height:** 6'3. **Weight:** 173 Ibs.

**Blood type:** B+

_"Entry #5 date 17/08/2008_

_I created the serum and applied to his bloodstream after strapping him down. But I made sure to apply only half the vial, only to test it out; who knows what can happen if I give him the entire thing without testing its effects first. According to test subject #1, the serum burns immensely when in contact with blood. Fortunately, I had foreseen this was a possibility that could happen and created an "antidote" to stop the burning. Of course, it won't stop the effects of the serum from happening, but it will dwindle the pain a bit, just to be a little more bearable to go through._

_Now I wait."_

_"Entry #6 date 17/08/2008_

_After a while, nothing happened. 12 hours passed with no side-effects. When he hit the 13-hour mark, he began to spasm and foam out of the mouth. I quickly applied a sedative to make him stop; he passed out. He will be out for a while; but I can't risk leave him alone unattended. But I can hear the others mingling about outside my room, and they will wonder where I am if I don't get down for breakfast. Or worse, suspicious._

_I don't think there's any harm in going just to eat and keep their suspicions at bay. I'll be back as soon as I can._

_PS: I just realized I still have half of the serum still in the vile. What should I do with it? I can't simply throw it in the thrash, someone may find it. I guess I'll just have to get rid of it another way…"_

Tord re-read the passage in confusion before sudden realization hit him, as he remembered the events unfolding in his mind like it had just occurred.

**(Flashback!)**

_Seth was asleep, strapped upright in the metal table. With one push of the lever attached to his wall, Tord hid the secret lab and left the room. Just as he descended the stairs, he fumbled one hand in his pocket only to find a small, glass vial containing the rest of the serum._

_Tord took it out and eyed curiously, completely forgotten it was there in the first place._

_"Tord! Breakfast is ready!" Edd's loud call coming from the kitchen snapped Tord out of his thoughts, and nearly made him drop the vial in surprise. He caught it in mid-air before it fell and shattered on the ground. "I made pancakes!"_

_"YEAH! PANCAKES!"_

_Matt shouted in excitement as he descended down the stairs in lightning speed and bumped on Tord along the way; nearly making him drop the vial once more before catching it._

_"Ops, sorry Tord!" Matt gave a quick apology and run off into the kitchen. Tord gave him a deadly glare as he disappeared from view and grit his teeth in irritation; shoving the vial back into his hoodie pocket. Those were close calls. Next time he may not be as fast, and he can't keep it on him in case it shatters, or it gets taken by someone._

_Tord walks into the kitchen, holding the vial in his hand and away from view of others. "What should I do with it?" He wondered._

_"Morning Tord!" Edd greeted him, standing in front of the stove as he flipped a pancake in the pan. Matt was already seated on the dining table, happily munching on a stack of pancakes. No sign of Tom though._

_"Morning." Tord answered back tiredly. He stayed awake the whole night; too excited with his experiment to sleep and he had to keep checking his subject for side-effects constantly. He approached the kitchen bench when he noticed the toaster already down and a blue mug with a bit of steaming coffee inside, standing by the sink. Tom's mug._

_Tord eyed it curiously before glancing down at the vial in his hand. "Maybe Tom already had breakfast; or at least his daily coffee for the day." He deduced. His eyes shifted to the sink drain behind it. Tord got an idea, pulling the lid out of the vial and approaching the sink. "I can just toss it down the drain. Sure; it might contaminate any forms of life living in the sewers with side-affects, but thanks to pollution any kind of mutation can be excused now days."_

_Just as Tord was about to tip over the vial and drop the serum from inside, down the sink drain, an annoyed voice spoke up from behind him. "What are you doing?"_

_Tord, taken by surprise and completely forgotten he was not alone in the room, accidentally dropped the vial into the mug. Petrified, he tried to take back the vial, but it was too late. By the time he took it out from the hot coffee, the vial was already empty. He stared at the brown concoction below him in alarm. There was nothing more he can do now._

_"Eh, Tord?" Tom's voice sounds behind him again questioningly. Nervously, but with a huge, fake smile plastered on his face for cover up, Tord turns around to face him._

_"Oh, hello Tom!" He greeted the Jehovah's witness in a friendly tone, despite his inner panic and frustration. "Morning!" He leaned against the kitchen counter, trying to look calm and natural; as well as hiding the blue mug from view._

_Tom raised an eyebrow in suspicion; Tord is never this friendly with him unless he is up to something. "What's with you?" He prompted. "And why are you hiding my coffee mug behind your back?"_

_Tord's smile faltered. "Nothing!" He blurted rather quickly, putting his hands up in defence._

_Tom narrowed his eyes at him. "Oh really, then you won't mind if I take a sip?" He challenged, his hand traveling around Tord to reach his mug. Tord panicked and stiffened. As Tom brought the mug closer to him, Tord lashed out and gripped Tom's hand hard; stopping him momentarily. He felt a spark upon coming into contact with the blue hooded boy, but he didn't pay any mind to it; he was too busy analysing the situation and thinking of his options to stop the scenario in his head from happening. He couldn't even say anything. Words got stuck in his throat and his mind fumbled with various excuses; but nothing was good enough to explain his behaviour except for the truth, which he has no intentions of telling. He just stared at Tom with wide eyes, who in return just stared back at Tord in surprise before his expression changed to mild annoyance. "Can you, um, let go now?"_

_There was nothing he can do now. If he insisted, Tom and the others will get more suspicious of him. He can't find a good enough excuse to stop him from drinking the tainted coffee, and he can't tell them the truth either for obvious reasons. With a sigh, and still keeping the fake smile on his face, Tord slowly let's go of Tom's hand. "Sorry." He apologised. "I'm a bit distracted today; didn't sleep very well." For effect, Tord let out a fake yawn and stretched his arms behind his back._

_Tom stared at Tord with suspicion, but knowing how f#cking crazy the Norwegian commie is, Tom let the incident go without a fuss and just shrugged in response. Then he took a sip from his coffee. Tord froze and watched wide eyed as Tom downed the entire brown beverage in one go. When Tom put his mug down again, the toaster dinged and he got his toast before taking his usual seat on the kitchen table._

_Tord never stopped watching Tom after that. For several days, he would often spy on Tom, always asking him how he was feeling, and observing any changes on his physical appearance or behaviour. Tom didn't seem to have notice his erratic behaviour. After a whole week, dividing his attention back and forth between Tom and Seth, Tord realized he couldn't find any signs, effects or strange occurrences with Tom. He was confused at first, and deduced that maybe the mixture between the serum and the coffee might have contradicted each other and nulled the effects. That was his only explanation for why it didn't work. He didn't go through what Seth did…_

"Sir?"

Tord snapped out of his thoughts and back to present day. Patrick was looking over to him quizzically. He's standing on the dark room with only one light illuminating above him with a bunch of files stacked up beside him. Tord slowly grinned, becoming wider by the second until he started laughing, and soon he began to cackle like a maniac at the realization. Patrick just watched him in confusion, and slightly afraid of his leader's mental health as the laughter grew louder.

"Tord?" Patrick called out once more.

Tord stopped laughing slamming his hands on top of the metal desk, making Patrick flinch in response at the loud, unexpected noise.

"How could I've been so stupid to overlook such a minuscule, obvious detail!" Tord exclaims, catching his breath from laughing so much. "It was staring right at my face this whole time! HA! I got it!"

Patrick's attention peaked up at the statement. "You do?" He questioned. When Tord turned around with his trademark smirk plastered on his face, Patrick knew to advert his gaze from his exposed eye; but he formed the proper soldier posture and saluted him. "Ready to comply! What are your orders, sir? What do you need?"

Tord chuckled, his metal hand fumbling inside the chest pocket of his uniform; searching for something. "Not a what…" He murmured, pulling out a small picture from his pocket and showing to Patrick. "But a who."

Patrick took the picture and examined it close. The picture was of a man with spiky brown hair, a grumpy expression on his face, wearing a blue hoodie, and his most defining feature; dark, empty sockets in place of his eyes. Patrick looked up at Tord hesitantly.

"Him, sir?" He prompted. "Are you sure?"

If it was any other soldier, Tord would have taken offense to being questioned so openly and would've most likely pulled out a gun to his face. But since this is Patrick, Tord just merely chuckled some more. "I am certain of this, Patrick! This time, I know I am!" He insisted with glee, turning his back around once again.

"Patrick." He called, his voice back to calm seriousness. "Go, take Paul with you, use any means necessary to complete the mission." He ordered.

"Sir?"

"And bring him to me." Tord finished.

"It is as good as done, sir!" Patrick saluted before doing a curt bow; exiting the room soon after he was dismissed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom gets into an argument with Edd and Matt, and goes out to drink.

Heavy footsteps echoed throughout the corridor as a hooded figure ascended the stairs to his apartment. Stopping on the second floor, he walked off the stairs, following near the end of the corridor and stopping in front of a door. He pulled out the keys from his hoodie pocket and unlocked the door, stepping in to his apartment and instinctively turning on the lights. However, the lights were already on and he was met with quite the unexpected sight.

His best friends, Matt and Edd, were sitting upright on his couch with their hands neatly folded over their laps; as if they were waiting for him or something. "Hey Tom!" Edd greeted him with his usual friendliness, but there was something heavy etched in his tone of voice that made Tom think something may not be quite right.

Tom raised one eyebrow in confusion, as he closed the door with his foot. "Um, hey guys." He greeted back, feeling awkward about the unexpected visit. "What are you doing here? And how did you get in here anyway?" He questioned them.

"Oh, Matt and I just came in for a visit but you weren't home, so we decided to wait around here for you." Edd explained, glancing at Matt and nudging his shoulder. "We also used the spare key you keep hidden underneath the fire extinguisher. Isn't that right, Matt?"

"Oh yeah." Matt confirmed, smiling widely. Bu it seemed rather forced, and his eyes keep casting downwards.

Tom didn't voice his suspicion just yet, he decided to play along for now. He sighed. "Guys I know we live right next to each other, and we agreed to meet up whenever we want; but I would appreciate a little warning next time." He told them, walking past the living room into the kitchen.

"I'm sorry." Edd apologised, rubbing the back of his head in discomfort. "I didn't realize we would bother you."

Tom opened up his fridge and pulled out a bottle of Smirnoff. "Nah it's fine." He answered back from the kitchen. "Just send me a text message or call me next time you plan to do it."

"Oh yeah, right, of course!" Edd exclaimed. "I'll keep that in mind next time."

Tom, with the bottle in his hand, walked out the kitchen back into the living room. He stared at Edd and Matt with an expressionless face. "Okay, so how about you go on and tell me the real reason why you're here?" He questioned, surprising both of them. "You two aren't the best in keeping secrets or acting natural, so stop beating around the bush and get it over with. I want to watch TV."

Edd and Matt share a long, uncomfortable glance towards one another. Matt shrugged, not knowing what to do, and Edd sighed in defeat, realizing the burden of spilling the beans falls upon his shoulders. "Very well. Tom, we are worried about you." He says, rubbing his left arm with his right hand.

Tom raised an eyebrow. "What? What are you talking about? I'm perfectly fine!" He argued in confusion.

"Are you?" Edd turned his gaze off the ground directly towards Tom's own eyeless sockets, surprising him in the seriousness he found in his friend's usual upbeat attitude. "We're not stupid Tom, we know about you sneaking out during the night to god knows where."

Tom stiffened at the mention of his nightly outings. They shouldn't know about that. But it sounds like they don't know the entire story, so as long as they don't know the reason why he goes his secret may be safe.

"Have you two been spying on me?" Tom demanded, attempting to divert the conversation from going to the sensitive topic he does not wish to touch upon.

"No need to." Edd crossed his arms, glaring at Tom. "Matt saw you leaving your apartment the other night and he told me about it. Then I kept an eye out for you, no pun intended, and saw you leaving every night for myself."

Tom grit his teeth in annoyance and irritation, shifting his dark gaze onto Matt, who flinched and shrunk under the unwanted attention. Tom turned back to Edd, who was waiting for him to suddenly blurt out and elaborate on his mysterious outings. "Yeah, I've been going out. So what?" Tom scoffed and crossed his arms. "I don't have to explain every single detail of my life to you two; I can keep secrets if I want to!"

Edd was taken back by Tom's mean demeanour. He knows how much he can be rude and mean, but normally that was played for jokes between the three of them. But this attitude was directed at them for real this time. The last time he remembers Tom acting this way towards any of them, was back when he threw a couch through the wall of their old home after he got annoyed with… Edd refused to think about it.

"Tom please, i know how much you value your privacy; and I'm sorry for invading it this way, but I just want to know what's going on with you." Edd pleaded, taking a step closer to the man in the blue hoodie.

"Why do you even want to know so badly anyway?" Tom questioned angrily, pulling out the cork of the bottle still being held in his hands. "Am I not allowed to have a life outside of you two?"

"You can! Of course you can!" Matt piped in, finally speaking. "It's just that, you haven't been acting like yourself these past few months and we're really worried."

Tom was just about to take a sip of his Smirnoff when Matt's words sunk in his head and he pulled the bottle away. _They noticed?_ He tried so hard to keep it hidden from them.

"What do you mean?" Tom asks in a calm tone, succeeding in keeping the panic he was feeling out of his voice.

"You keep distancing yourself away from us, barely laughs and when you do it's forceful, not to mention the large amounts of Smirnoff you drink daily." Edd listed.

"Oh c'mon, I've always drank Smirnoff! That's nothing new" Tom protested.

"Not as much as you drink nowadays." Matt grumbled under his breath, earning a glare from Tom.

"I've seen you coming back home from shopping, and you never bring back any food only Smirnoff bottles." Edd spoke, stepping in front of Matt to divert Tom's attention away from the ginger. "What have you been even eating this whole time?" Edd raised one hand towards Tom, who backed away to keep him from coming into contact.

"I'm fine guys, really, I am!" Tom insisted. "You are worrying over absolutely nothing, and I can assure you there's nothing wrong going on with me." He churned the bottle in his hands before taking a swig at it.

"I thought you might say that…" Edd's voice mumbled quietly before trailing off, waiting for the expected reaction.

Tom stiffened in mid swig after swallowing a whole sip of it, and he ended up choking on the bland flavour. He spat out whatever was left in his mouth and coughed, wiping his mouth in the sleeve of his hoodie. The taste was terrible! It was like he just took a swig of cleaning products blended together to make a bland, tasteless and nasty concoction. This was nothing like the usual Smirnoff he drinks!

After recovering from the foul taste and nearly choking to death, Tom turned the bottle in his hands. His eyes narrowed down and his grip tightened around the bottle as he read the bottle brand.

"Diet?" Tom hissed in disbelief. "What is this crap?! I am sure I bought the regular brand!" Suddenly, a thought popped into his mind as he remembered he is not alone in the room.  _No. Surely not. They wouldn't do something like this to him, would they?_

"What have you done?" Tom asks in a calm, icy tone through gritted teeth, glaring dark sockets at his so called "friends".

Edd met his stare with a determined gaze. "Well, since you refuse to properly take care of yourself, and you won't tell us what's wrong; Matt and I decided to change things around here for a bit." He spoke. "So while you were gone to who knows where, we threw out all your Smirnoff bottles, and replaced with diet ones."

Tom didn't respond. He just clutched the bottle tightly in his hand, so much so the bottle shattered in his grip; shards of glass mixed with alcohol slipping through his fingers, cutting him in the process and adding his own blood to the mixture.

Matt shrunk back further into the sofa, watching in fear as his friend fumed with anger.

"What gave you the right to come into my home, uninvited, and replace my stuff!" Tom snarled, pointing a finger at Edd.

"It's for your own good, Tom." Edd defended. "You've been drinking too much and it's getting it to you."

"My own good? How would you like if I did the exact same thing to you?! Uh?" Tom argued. He marched up to Edd and grabbed him by the collar of his hoodie, holding him off the ground. "How about I sneak into your house one night and replace all your cans of cola with diet ones?! I don't think you'll like that very much!"

"Tom, please, we're just trying to help you." Edd pleaded, trying to get Tom's hold off of him and let him down.

"I didn't ask for your help!" Tom put him down harshly back to the ground. "Stay out of matters you don't, and you WON'T, ever understand."

"We could if you would just tell us!" Matt tried to reason.

"It's none of your goddam business, so stay out of it!" Tom snapped, whipping around to face the ginger haired man. He raised his arm above his head and aimed to hit him. Matt yelped and flinched. But the hit never came.

"Tom!" Edd called out. He was gripping Tom's arm with all his strength to stop him from harming their friend. Tom attempted to shake him off, but Edd wasn't letting go.

"Let go of me!"

"Tom stop! This is exactly what we're talking about!" Edd shouted, making Tom stop his struggles and stare back at him with a look of confusion mixed together with anger. "Please, we don't want you to turn out to be like-"

"Like who? Like Tord?" Tom challenged, finishing the sentence for him.

Edd visibly flinched and adverted his gaze to the ground at the mention of their former friend. Seeing this reaction, Tom laughed harshly and took the opportunity to shove Edd away from him, taking him completely by surprise.

"Really? You guys still on that?" Tom questioned, taking notice of his friends' guilty expressions. "You would think that after 8 months you would have gotten over him and moved on, but apparently not."

"You nearly hit Matt just now." Edd pointed out, getting up from the ground and slowly approaching Tom with an arm stretched out towards him. "And you've been distancing yourself from us, acting weird and cold, and now you're getting violent! After what happened to Tord, how do you expect us to overlook this and not be concerned?"

When he was close enough, Edd attempted to place his hand upon Tom's shoulder. But he shrugs him off. Edd looked visibly hurt by his action, but Tom swallowed down the guilt, just like he always does, and walks away from them.

"I am nothing like that traitorous, maniac, genocidal communist." Tom hissed, listing off all the bad qualities from the top of his head without struggle.

He sighed in frustration, pinching his nose. "Look, after this crap you pulled on me I'm going to be leaving." He told them, pulling up his hoodie over his head.

"Where you going?" Edd questioned nervously.

Tom glanced back at him. "To a bar, if you must know, to drink real alcohol." He answered emotionless. "Don't expect me back so soon." It was the last thing he said before he walked out of his apartment and slammed the door shut behind him.

He stormed out the building, still fuming with anger and muttering curses under his breath. Rain splattered around him, soaking his hoodie in the process but he gave no mind as he walked down the street.

In the street's corner stands his favourite location, the Mustacheo bar. He often comes here to drink his night away when he has no more bottles of Smirnoff back home. Although Tom finds himself in the exact same situation, he just stares at the bar's sign across the street before walking away. Despite the longing for alcohol burning strongly within him, he knows better than to go there now. Edd and Matt might decide to follow him and would concluded he would go there. He needs to find another place, away from them and his problems where he can drink in peace.

Tom walked for a while. The cold chilly night mixed with the rain made him shiver, and he started to sniff as his nose got stuffy.

"Great, just what I needed. A cold." Tom sarcastically says to himself.

He's been walking for lord knows how long, he just arrived at an unknown part of the city Tom is unfamiliar with, and still no sign of a bar anywhere. "Screw Matt and Edd, I should've just went to Mustacheos' instead." He cursed silently.

Just then, much like a ray of light, hope and warmth, Tom spotted a colourful sign blinking across from him. It was hard to make out the letters in the heavy rain, but as he approached it, Tom could finally read it.

"Roten Fuhrer pub." Tom read in confusion. "Fancy name. Must be French or something." He mumbled to himself as he walked in.

Opening the door, a bell jingle rang out, warning others of his presence. Tom glanced around the place. It's alive with activity. People were drinking many types of alcoholic beverages, playing at the pool table, betting on poker matches, smoking, eating fried portions, laughing and joking, and some were even gambling on slot machines near the back of the establishment. The decoration of the place was a mixture of red, blue and black; but mostly red, with shiny black marble tables and benches, and blue carpet coating the entire floor.

Tom stared wide eyed. "I'm in heaven." He murmured quietly in disbelief. He could almost feel a single tear trailing down his face from the sheer beauty of the place. He took down the hoodie off his head, shaking his wet hair around to rid of the water.

"Oy! Newcomer!"

Tom snapped his attention towards the bar stand, where a man wearing a fancy black and blue uniform with a neat red tie stood behind it. The bartender's hair was brown, slick back with his fringe pointing sideways, light skin and lime green eyes staring at him as he cleaned up a glass in his hands with a cloth. On the left side of his chest, pinned to his suit was a nametag which was written in the name Jacob.

There was also someone sitting in one of the stools of the bar stand. Tom couldn't see his face, as he was with his back towards him and drinking something, but he is wearing a black coat and has short, bushy brown hair, a lighter shade in comparison to the bartender's.

"What can I get yah, stranger?" The bartender asked him, beckoning Tom to take a seat in one of the stools as he continued to clean the glasses.

He did so, still unsure of the reality he is seeing, and sits next to the other figure. "Uh, do you by any chance have Smirnoff?" Tom asks sheepishly.

The bartender eyes him curiously. "Yep." He confirmed with a strange, foreign accent laced in his voice.  _This place really is French!_  Tom thought. "Are yah talking about the good stuff, or the diet?" He questions.

"The good stuff! Straight in the glass with ice, and nothing else." Tom ordered contently.

"Very well, sir." The bartender nodded, turning around to get him the drink.

"Sir…" Tom repeated the word with a chuckle, pleased with the establishment's service and respect for their clients. The exact same thing couldn't be said about Mustacheos', or any other bar he went to for that matter. "Not even home apparently." Tom murmured coldly, feeling a pang of hurt deep inside him.

"Tough times at home?" A gruff voice asked, snapping Tom out of his thoughts.

He turned and realized it was the figure sitting beside him that had asked the question. He took the chance to take a closer look at him. He's churning a glass of liquid, supposedly scotch, on one hand as he stared down at it deep in thought with dark, brown eyes. A cigar poked out of his mouth, but it was unlit. But the most peculiar and distinguishable aspects were his bushy, furrowed eyebrows.

Tom scoffed. "You have no idea." He replied, tapping the table.

"Probably not, but I may have a hunch." The stranger spoke, his voice gruff and with a thick accent, before downing the entire glass in one go. "Let me guess; trouble with friends?"

Tom's eyes widened. "Yeah, how did you know?" He questioned, feeling genuinely surprised the stranger was able to guess it right so easily.

"Like I said; it was a hunch." The stranger answered before turning his attention to the bartender. "Another drink, please." He ordered.

Despite just meeting him, Tom likes the stranger already. He stretched out a hand towards him, making sure it was his right hand, as his left one was still stinging in pain after crushing the glass bottle earlier. But the pain doesn't bother him. Not anymore anyway. "Name's Tom." He introduced himself.

The stranger eyed his hand in surprise but he fully turned in his stool to face him, revealing his entire face. Tom was taken by surprise when he saw the man's scar over his right eye, stretching across it. Good thing his eyes are entirely black and no one can really tell where he is looking at.

"Jeremy." He greeted back and shook his hand.

"Nice to meet you, Jeremy." Tom says, attempting to seem friendly despite the whole ordeal with his friends early that night. "Say, are you a frequent client to this pub?"

"You could say that." Jeremy replies in a gruff voice. "But I can't say the same about you though. Never seen you around these parts before, so I guess it's safe to say you're not from around here."

Tom shrugged. "Sort of." He says. "I'm a local to this city, but I admit I've never come to this part of town before. Can't believe I was missing out on this the whole time!" He gestured his arm out towards the whole establishment to make his point.

Jeremy chuckled. "Well, if you're having troubles back home, you stumbled across the right place." He spoke. "This pub is the greatest! And who knows? You might find yourself better company here to make up for the ones who have upset you." He suggested.

Tom frowned momentarily. Being reminded of his struggles with his friends, if they can even be considered that now. Jeremy noticed his expression and frowned. "Ey, I apologize if I touched a sore subject." He says. "Didn't mean to be bold, it's none of my business anyway."

Tom looked up at him. "Nah it's fine." He dismissed the issue and shrugged. "You wanna know something, Jeremy? I think you got a point!"

"Oh?" Jeremy raised one bushy eyebrow in question.

"I mean, who cares about the issues and problems I may have back home?" Tom elaborated. "I'm here now! And dammit, I will make the most of it!"

"Well said, chum." Jeremy gave a nod of approval.

Just then the bartender, Jacob as he is called, walked in and handed them both their respective drinks. Tom felt his throat go dry at the sight of the holy alcohol being poured in a glass and put in front of him. He grabbed his glass and eyed it in anticipation. But before he went ahead and chugged it down like he usually does, he glanced back at his newfound drinking buddy and raised his glass out towards him.

"Come on Jeremy, let's cheer and drink for this occasion!" Tom offered, smiling widely in content. "I don't feel like going back home any time soon, so I want to spend however long as possible just drinking, having fun, and no worries at all!"

"Sounds good to me." Jeremy agreed, raising his own glass up as well. "Cheers pal!"

"Cheers!"

The two of them dinked their glasses together before simultaneously chugging it down. Tom immediately felt relief as his burning throat was quenched by the taste of good, quality alcohol. But something seems out of place...

As he set his cup back down to the table, Tom felt his vision go blurry.  _"What's going on?"_  He thought, feeling his body go numb.  _Normally I can hold up my liquor count up to 5 or 6 bottles, but this is getting ridiculous!_ Hurriedly, albeit rather clumsily, Tom tried to get up off his seat, but Jeremy just effortlessly pushed him back down to his stool.

Tom glanced at him in confusion, blinking as he tried to clear up his vision. "I-I don't f-feel *hic* so good." He muttered, his head swaying from side to side.

"Don't worry, my friend." He heard Jeremy say. "It will be over soon, just give in and sleep."

Tom wanted to argue. He wanted to remain awake and demand to know what he meant, but he quickly felt his strength drain away from his body. He couldn't maintain himself awake for much longer. His vision went completely black and next thing he knows, Tom passed out with his head lying against the table top.

But before he could fully lose his consciousness he heard Jeremy speaking one final time. "Look on the bright side, at least after tonight you won't have to see your friends ever again. Well, except one that is…" With that, Tom went unconscious.

Jeremy stared down at Tom's sleeping form sitting beside him with an expressionless face while churning the scotch in his glass. He frowned down at him, feeling slightly guilty for tricking the blue hooded man this way, especially after befriending and gaining his thrust. He gingerly patted the top of the unconscious man's head, ruffling his hair; by no means in an affectionate manner, but to make sure he was completely knocked out before moving him. After gaining no response, Jeremy grunted.

"He's out cold alright." He confirmed, drinking the rest of his scotch before turning towards Jacob, who watched the entire thing silently and with no expression whatsoever shown on his face. He just simply stood there with his hands folded neatly behind his back and with a straight posture. "What took you so long, anyway? I swear, for a second I thought you had gone back there to drink."

"Oh, I'm sorry." Jacob apologised, however his tone was dry and held sarcasm. "It took me a while to find the right drugs because SOMEONE misplaced them in the wrong cabinet with the wrong labels and I had to correct it everything myself."

Jeremy smirked at him. "Poor you, it must've been so terrible." He replied casually with equal amount of sarcasm and a flirty tone. "You know, if you would have just come back and asked for help I could have lent you a hand."

"And ruin your disguise and our plans to capture Tom? I think not." Jacob pointed out, leaning closer to Jeremy over the bar counter. They stared at each other's eyes for a moment longer before Jacob broke his gaze to look at Tom's unconscious form, a frown reappearing on his face. "Well, I guess it doesn't matter now. We got what we needed."

Jeremy got off his stool, stretching out his limbs and yawning. "I'll be going on my way then. I'll take him along with me." He announced, getting a grip on Tom's upper half and hauling him up towards him. "Wow, this guy is as light as a feather! Almost no weight to him." He commented as he picked him up over his shoulder. You coming or what?" He asked, turning back to Jacob who began to clean up the counter.

"Gotta finish service first." He gestured towards the other people in the pub. Most of them were oblivious to their actions, but the ones who were aware just gave them a single nod of approval before resuming to their drinks. "I'll close down soon and meet you back at the headquarters. You go on ahead and report to red leader."

"Report what? I think it's pretty obvious the status of our mission!" Jeremy exclaimed jokingly, gesturing down at the sleeping man in his arms.

Jacob smiled slightly, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. "Away with you." He dismissed him half-heartedly.

Jeremy smiled back on his way out and carried Tom along with him towards the back. After he was out of sight, Jacob resumed on with his work like nothing ever happened.  _I hope Tord knows what he's doing._  He thought, feeling sorry for the knocked out man and all the pain he's about to endure in the near future. If he even survives long enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what you guys think of it so far? If you think Matt and Edd's behaviour, or even Tom's is coming out as OOC, I apologise, but just remember that there is a reason for that and if you're clever enough to see the hints I put all over this chapter then you'll realize the reason why. And yes, i made up the name Mustacheos for the bar. Pretty sure that's the name of a food brand, but i'm not certain. Now you might be wondering who Jeremy and Jacob are, and if you haven't figure out yet you'll just have to wait for the next, or possibly the one afterwards for the answer. But hey, look on the bright side! Next chapter Tom and Tord will finally meet.
> 
> Fun fact: I actually felt bad while writing the scene with Tom, Matt and Edd. I'm going to feel even worse when the actual story begins…


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom comes face to face with the Red leader himself, and Tord has a proposition.

As he came back to consciousness, Tom groaned in pain feeling his head pounding, and he became aware of his surroundings. His eyelids felt heavy so he couldn't open his eyes just yet. Instead he used his other senses. He felt something cold gripping tightly to his wrists and clenching it against a wooden surface. His legs were in the same situation, with his ankles tied up to something beneath him. Tom realized he was sitting down, most likely to a chair, with his head bent down and left hanging as he slept.

Tom finally managed to open his eyes, blinking them in the process but furrowed his eyebrows in confusion when he remained to see only darkness. _Did I go blind while I was asleep, or something?_ He wondered. Then with a jolt, he realized the situation he was in. Tied up to a chair, possibly blind, in an unknown place. Feeling panicked, Tom tried to recall last night's events. _C'mon Tom! Think! What did you do this time?_ He racked his brain, trying to remember any important details. _Let's see… I had an argument with Matt and Edd… was walking around… found a pub… Smirnoff… Jeremy and-_

"Jeremy!" Tom exclaimed in realization. The last thing he remembers was drinking with Jeremy and the next was a blur, but his gut feeling was saying that Jeremy had something to do with this. With this newfound information, Tom struggled against his restraints.

 _No way in hell am I going to be sold into human trafficking, having my organs stolen, or going back to high school!_ He thought angrily, pulling on the restraints on his writs with all his might, but the metal of his shackles just cut into his skin and his efforts were proven futile. _Dammit! Where is that inhuman strength when I need it most?_

Tom gave a final pull on his shackles before sinking back into his seat and groaning in defeat. He panted to regain back his breath, as his mind swirled with various thoughts running around erratically trying to make sense of things. _Where am i? Why was I brought here? What is this place? And what's going to happen to me?_ Questions screamed in his mind.

Suddenly, a bright light was turned on, right on top of him. Tom hissed and closed his eyes immediately, being blinded. _Well, now I know there is nothing wrong with my eyes._ He thought sarcastically.

"Well, well, well; look who's finally awake from their beauty sleep." Tom hears a voice jeer at a distance. A familiar voice.

"What? Who's there?" Tom demanded in confusion, slowly blinking his eyes open. The bright, white light shining above him made the rest of the room around him look much darker. If someone were to be lurking around in the same room as him, hidden in a dark corner, Tom wouldn't see them.

"Just an old friend…" The mysterious voice replied back, an accent present along with a tinge of humour and maybe triumph. But Tom wasn't concerned about the emotion behind the voice, he was more preoccupied with the owner of the said voice. It's familiar, has an accent, sounds smug, and to add it all up he knows only one person who would ever refer to him as an old friend.

"Show yourself!" Tom snarled, thrashing against the restraints. _Please let my suspicions be wrong!_ He inwardly prayed.

His demand was met with a loud laugh, echoing throughout the room. Tom didn't want to admit the possibility, but he was genuinely scared. "As you wish." The voice spoke smoothly. Shuffling could be heard in the dark, and soon heavy footsteps started to approach his position. Tom looked around the room, turning his neck as far as the restraints would let him, trying to pinpoint where the figure would appear from. No way would he sit idly and let be taken by surprise.

Suddenly a hand popped up from behind him and ruffled his hair. Tom flinched at the unexpected contact and tried to get away but the restraints wouldn't let him get very far. Tom grumbled in irritation, reeling his head back. "Get off!" He yelled.

The hand retreated and a low chuckle could be heard. Tom tried to crane his neck and look upwards to get a glimpse of who was behind this, but he saw nothing. He caught a glimpse of movement at the corner of his eye. When he looked back down again, someone stood directly in front of him, grinning widely. Tom's eyes widened in shock. His gut was right. It was none other than the one he hated most in the world. Well, at least the second most hated.

"Tord!" Tom gasped, looking at his former not-friend towering over him.

"Surprise!" Tord laughed, stretching his arms out. That was when Tom took a closer look at his appearance. His hair was still the same pointy, horned trademark look, but it looked messy in certain places. He wore a blue and red uniform, with dark pants and combat boots. His right arm was replaced with a red, robotic prosthetic one. But his face was the most changed. The right side of his face is scarred and slightly charred, and his eye was covered up by a black eyepatch. It made him look a whole lot more sadistic. _Fitting his personality, I suppose._ Tom thought.

Tord's grin widened, noticing Tom's eyes analyse his form. "Like my new look?" He asks, taking Tom by surprise and snapping him out of his thoughts. Tord showcased his robotic hand out towards him. "I must say it's an improvement; I certainly liked it! It makes me feel more powerful." He flexed his metallic fingers, making a faint whirring sound as the gears shifted from within.

"What happened to you?" Tom managed to speak up and ask.

"Oh, don't you remember?" Tord raised an eyebrow at him. "Betrayal, giant robot… Harpoon gun." He listed off seemingly random things with a cheerful tone when his voice suddenly darkened and he glared at Tom as he mentioned the last item.

Tom blinked in realization. "I, did this, to you?" He questioned, already knowing the answer.

Tord laughed. "Don't flatter yourself, Tom." He says. "You may have destroyed my giant robot, along with my plans of ruling the world. But you just helped me gain even more power than before."

"How so?" Tom prompted.

"Why, if you hadn't stopped me, I wouldn't have come back and gained all of this." Tord gestured to the room around them, slowly walking up to him. "More followers, bigger influence, money, power, and of course the motivation I needed to gain back my determination in finishing what I started." He leaned down, his face inches away from Tom's, but he didn't flinch away or showed any sort of emotion. He just stared back at the Norwegian communist with a calm expression.

"And what did you start, exactly?" Tom questioned, glaring at Tord challengingly.

Tord grinned. "I'm glad you asked." He says, ruffling Tom's hair with his metallic hand one last time before leaning away and walking over to sit down in the chair positioned opposite of him. A table separating the two of them.

Tord leaned forward in his seat, folding his hands together in front of him. "However, before I get started, it's only fair we catch up." He proposed. "After all, friends who have not heard of one another for so long should have a chance to talk properly."

Tom trashed himself forward as far as the restraints would allow him; glaring furiously and baring his teeth at the smug man sitting before him. "I. Am. Not. Your. Friend!" He spat out each word with a delay between them, carrying all his anger and resentment at him.

Tord simply smirks in response, infuriating Tom even more at his lack of response. "So, how's life been faring for you, eh?" He questions, leaning back in his seat and propping his feet over the table, hands folded behind his head.

Tom fumes in anger. "Fine." He hissed, clenching the arms of his chair, his knuckles turning white in his grip.

"How about Matt and Edd?" Tom stiffened at the question, fixing his gaze over to the Norwegian's face for his expression. However, his face wasn't displaying any emotion. Tord just fixed his gaze to the ceiling, rocking back and forth in his seat with his mouth pressed into a thin line. Even his voice seemed devoid of emotion; unlike just a few moments ago where he was smug and making fun of Tom. It was rather strange and unnatural seeing him like this.

"Are they alright?" Tord prompted once more, after Tom failed to answer the first time.

Tom's anger dissolved momentarily, thinking about his friends and the impact Tord's betrayal had upon them. "They are fine. Never better in fact!" Tom exclaimed. "Not thanks to you anyway. And why do you even care? Feeling guilty?" Tom smirked slightly at the notion.

A small smile formed on Tord's face. "Oh Tom, you should know by now I don't ever feel guilty of anything." He murmured. "If I had any remorse for turning against the three of you, we wouldn't be here now, would we?"

"No. I suppose we wouldn't." Tom muttered under his breath.

"And what about you, Tom?" Tord questioned, shooting him a side-glance.

"I already said I'm fine." Tom hissed in irritation. _What's the point of these useless questions? I know he doesn't actually care about the answer, and he is obviously after something else, so why bother beating around the bush?_ He wondered.

"Not that. I mean generally speaking." Tord corrected, earning a confused look form Tom. "You know, mental and physical health? Anything happening to you in these last couple of months?"

Tom was taken back. _What kind of question is that?_ He wondered. It made no sense for Tord's character to be concerned about such things, especially in regards to him. Unless… Tom stiffened and stared at Tord with a horrified expression. _No. He can't have- There's no way he could've- Surely not- Oh please don't!_ His thoughts kept running over each other as panic filled his mind.

"L-like I already said, I'm perfectly fine." Tom insisted, hating himself for stuttering as it displayed weakness; and the last thing he wants right now is to give the man in front of him the thought he was going submissive. To correct his mistake, Tom thrashed in his restraints violently and demanded. "Enough questions! What is it that you want from me, Tord? Why have you brought me here?"

Tord shot him a glance, no emotion on his face. "I'll tell you everything, if you tell me your thoughts first." He proposed. "Why do you think you're here? What do you think I want from you?"

Tom wanted to beat him up so badly, but the restraints kept him contained no matter how much he trashed around. Tord smirked lightly at the sight of his struggles. "It's futile to resist." He spoke. "These chains were designed and created by me, and made specifically to hold on to incredibly strong beings. It can hold down an elephant, and not even a great white's bite can shatter it."

Tom huffed, slumping back in his seat and panting for breath after his failed struggles. He stared at Tord across from him with anger and frustration, as he only gained a smug grin in return. _Don't let him get to you._ He thought determinably. _Focus Tom, just think and answer; why am I here?_ He thought deeply, remembering everything he knows about the smug man sitting in front of him. He only came to one conclusion, even though there are counter arguments, it's his only deduction at this point.

"You want revenge on me for what I've done to you." Tom spoke, his voice calm, clear and unwavering. He glared at Tord, waiting for some sort of response from him. Anything. A smile, a smirk, laughter; heck, even a gun pointed at his face would be enough. But Tord simply hummed, stopping the motion he was doing with his feet and chair.

"Revenge, you say?" He echoed calmly, sounding interested in the notion. "I guess in some aspects you could say that." He chuckled.

"So you're gonna kill me?" Tom asks, but he felt no fear at the thought. In fact, he was anticipating it at this point.

"Kill you? Now who said anything about killing?" Tord pointed out, putting his feet down from the table and leaning forward. Tom looked at him in confusion. Tord rolled his eye. "If I wanted you dead, I would've done it so while you were unconscious."

"Then wha-"

Before Tom could finish it, Tord pushed his chair back and slowly made his way over to him. Tom watched his movements with caution, not sure what to expect from the Norwegian maniac at this point. Tord stopped beside him, and sitting at the dge of the table next to him.

"Here's the situation, Tom, and I urge you to pay close attention because I don't often make deals and they should not be taken lightly." Tord spoke in a serious voice, poking the tip of Tom's nose with his metal finger for emphasis. Tom gulped at the close proximity between the two of them, and the intensity he found in the Norwegian's gaze. He reluctantly nodded, just wanting to get his answers but at the same time scared at what he might hear.

Tord sighed, taking a deep breath before starting. "Remember our little adventure with the army a long time ago? Ever since then, I have developed a passion for war; and ultimately, global domination." He says. "I began to study all forms of science in secret, in hopes of developing the perfect weapon so I can use it for my own benefit."

Tord paused momentarily, allowing the information given to sink in Tom's mind. He nodded for him to continue.

"My plan for the ultimate weapon, was to develop a special serum that would turn anyone injected with it into…" He went on explaining, but he paused one more time to build up suspense, smirking down at Tom. "A monster." He finally reveals, watching Tom's facial expression in anticipation. Waiting for some kind of recognition in his dark sockets. But Tom blinked and raised an eyebrow in confusion.

"Uh, okay?"

Tord frowned and glared down at him. He mentally faced palmed for the failed attempt of dramatic effect. He sighed and carried on.

"For years, I have been working on the secret formula for this monster serum. After the failure of my first test subject, I left to carry on my work privately without any interferences." He continues.

"So that's why you left then?" Tom questioned in curiosity and surprise. "All that talk about following your dream, was just an excuse to get away from us and work on your super-duper secret science project?"

Tord grinned. "Not entirely." He responded. "After all, my dream is global domination, and I left to pursue just that."

Tom gritted his teeth, snarling at the smug bastard in front of him. Tord just watched him struggle against his restraints in amusement.

"Anyways. Failure after failure, after trying for so long, I eventually gave up." He went on, turning away momentarily with hands folded neatly behind his back. "So I went to plan B! Get my giant robot and take over the world! And from there we both know the rest of how that attempt turned out. So after getting a new hideout, I returned to work on the monster formula more determined than ever, only to end up with more failures."

"Okay! I get it! You're insane!" Tom snapped in frustration, interrupting Tord's story. "But what does any of this have to do with me?" He demanded to know, tired of hearing him monologue useless exposition.

Tord glanced back at him over his shoulder, concealing the large grin spreading across his face. "Why, after I went back to look at the old test subject files, I realized I had unknowingly taken in another test subject. But at the time I was foolish enough to overlook it." He turned back to Tom and slowly made his way towards him. Tom let his words process in his mind, and his eyes widened at the realization. _The monster… Tord… giant robot… the voices… and now I'm here. Oh no.  
_

When Tord reached him, towering above, Tom glanced up at him rigid while mustering up the courage to ask what he's afraid of hearing in return. Taking a deep breath, controlling his emotions he stared back at Tord with a glare and an expressionless stoic face.

"I'm that test subject, aren't i?" He questioned, already knowing the answer but wishing with all his might it wasn't the case. And for the first time in a long while he felt something other than anger and resentment bubble up in the pit of his stomach. Fear.

Tord must've noticed his change in behaviour and gave him a small smile. Not a mocking, or sadistic grin, but a genuine smile, albeit sympathetic. "Yes, you are." He replied solemnly.

Tom's gaze dropped to the ground and his breathing became ragged at the realization. He swallowed down the lump forming in his throat from nervousness with great struggle. "And what are you going to do to me?" He managed to ask.

He felt a metallic hand grip his chin, raising his head to look back up at Tord's face. "That's where the deal comes in to play." He murmured. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way, but it's your call."

"But no matter what I chose, I'll still be your guinea pig to your science project." Tom added with a hiss. Tord hummed and moved his gloved hand to run through Tom's hair, making him grit his teeth in irritation and glare up at him.

"If you willingly agree to be my next test subject, you will be given a certain amount of freedom." Tord proposed before adding. "I'll see the specific details with you in the morning, but know that it is clearly the better option out of the two."

"And if I refuse?" Tom spat; raising his head, pulling out of Tord's grip and glared at him in defiance.

Tord frowned down at him in disdain. "Then I'll just have to strap you down and experiment on you against your will." He responded with an icy calm voice. But as he noticed Tom's lack of reaction, Tord realized he needed to up the stakes if he wants his collaboration. Tord smirked as an idea popped into his head. "And I'll get Matt and Edd to watch the whole thing." He added slyly.

"WHAT?!" Tom exclaimed, his dark sockets going wide as he stared at him in shock and disbelief. Then his surprise turned into anger once again and he struggle against his restraints to try and attack the red communist. "Leave them OUT OF THIS!" He demanded.

Tord laughed harshly before looking at his mechanical finger tips. "I don't think so." He murmured. "Unless you agree to these experiments, I'll have my soldiers go after our friends and force them to watch as you go through horrible torture."

"You're bluffing!" Tom challenged. "Even if you did betray them, I don't think you would have the guts to go after them just because of me!"

"Do you really want to test that theory?" Tord prompted mockingly while scratching his chin. "Hmmm, maybe if things don't work out as well as I hope they do with you, I can use THEM as my next test subjects."

Tom froze, feeling as if he just received a hard slap in the face. "Y-you would-dn't!" He tried to appear strong, and up until the mention of his friends he was; mostly because he could care less for whatever happens to him. But if something were to happen with Matt and Edd, even if they did get on his nerves, he would never forgive himself. "Y-you don't k-know where to find them!" He pointed out in desperation.

Tord chuckled. "Oh you silly, stupid Tom. It wasn't that hard to find you in the first place, and if they decide to go out searching for you we would know. I have surveillance cameras everywhere on the city!" He pinched Tom's cheek hard, making him hiss at the contact and try to shove him away with a head-butt.

"So let's recap!" Tord got off the table and started to pace around Tom's chair. "You can agree to do this out of your own free will and be granted liberties, or you continued to resist and defy me and I will experiment on you regardless and Matt and Edd will be my next victims."

Tom felt an involuntary shiver run down his spine at the complete feeling of hopelessness he found himself in. Tied down, forced and threatened, and all at the hands of a genocidal, Norwegian maniac. He's in a dead end, and he doesn't know what to do in this situation; and the one blocking his only exit is currently standing right beside him with a straight posture.

Tord must've sensed his confusion and hesitation, as he hummed and fixed the front of his uniform. "I'll take my leave for now, but I will return to hear your answer in the morning. Not that you can tell the time from here." He spoke, muttering the last part to himself, clearly referencing to the dark room with no clock or windows. Tom didn't turn to look at him, just heard his footsteps get progressively quieter as he walked away from him. "I'll have one of my soldiers come to give you some food, but that's all you'll receive until the final judgment. This is an important night for you Tom."

A loud creak was heard from the door behind him and light from outside filled the rest of the room, showing tables with various medical tools displayed on them and other science related equipments. It varied from sharp knives, saws, syringes, huge scissors and all kinds of crazy stuff that made Tom shrink with fear in his seat. He gasped at the sight. _Does he intend on using all of this stuff on me?_ He wondered, feeling a dreadful anticipation for whatever choice he makes, as he'll go through this no matter what.

"Choose wisely." That was the last thing Tord says to him before he slammed the door shut, turning off the light above him, and leaving Tom in complete darkness and solitude to make the choice that might save or put his friends in danger. Only one thought echoed through Tom's mind, repeatedly, constantly mocking him as he did not know the answer.

_What do I do?_


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom thinks long and hard about his decision, but he has a few requests of his own for Tord.

_What do I do?_

The question kept ringing in his mind, echoing as if he was shouting into a dark hole and patiently waiting for an answer, only to be met with doubtful silence. It's been hours, or maybe even seconds, but with how long he's been left in the dark, Tom wouldn't know anymore; since Tord came to visit him and left to think about his proposition.

Tom has long since given up on struggling. He tired himself out by fighting his restraints and drained all his strength. Now he's left with a difficult choice to make. Either he submits himself to Tord, a crazy sociopath, the real life definition of a mad scientist; or he can continue to defy him, suffer and pay the price with his friend's lives on the line.

There are also a couple of other options on the table, but they're risky and not definitive. He could go along with Tord's offer, play along until an opportunity for escape presents itself. Or the most appealing choice, end himself before the experiments take place. But considering he's strapped down to a chair and the only sharp objects are hidden in the dark and far from reach, he won't be going anywhere so soon. Tom glanced in the direction of the metal table he knows is right in front of him. Seeing only the faint outline in contrast to the darkness. _Maybe if I beat my head enough times on the table I'll hopefully get head-trauma and die of internal bleeding._ He thought darkly.

Tom leaned forward, totally going for the idea, as far as the restraints would let him. He grits his teeth in irritation when he felt his forehead barely scrape the surface of the table. _Come on! Just a little bit more and this hell will end!_

He abruptly stopped in his efforts when he heard something heavy just outside his room. Immediately he sat up right against the back of the chair in anxious anticipation. Is it morning already? He gulped at the thought of Tord back so soon without thinking of a proper answer. The heavy door creaked and swung open, and the light positioned above him flicked on. Tom hissed at the blinding light and quickly closed his eyes. He could hear a set of footsteps making its way towards him. He flinched, already waiting for the sound of the annoying smug voice mocking him, or the familiar touch of his metal arm ruffling his hair.

But nothing happened.

"You can open your eyes now if you want." A voice tells him, laced with an accent.

Slowly, Tom blinked his eyes open against the strong flash, letting his vision adjust to the brightness. Blinking a couple of times, Tom realized a tray of food was laid before him over the table. He raised an eyebrow. That's right, Tord mentioned that he would be delivered food during his "thinking" time. Tom let out a sigh of relief and his muscles relaxed. An uncomfortable throat clearing was heard from his right, and Tom remembered he was no longer alone in the room.

A man stood to his right side with a straight posture and hands folded neatly behind his back. He's wearing a blue and red uniform, similar to Tord's but neater, dark pants and combat boots. But got Tom's attention was the man himself. Well-groomed brown hair, with his bangs slicked sideways, pale skin and lime green eyes staring down at him in curious anticipation. _He looks familiar…_ Tom squinted his eyes.

"Have we met before?" Tom questioned.

The man raised an eyebrow in surprise, his eyes widening a little. "Don't you recognise me?" He asks.

"Should i?" Tom retorted.

The man frowned, feeling slightly offended. "I would've think so, considering I am one of the factors that got you here." He states folding his arms over his chest and narrowing his eyes at Tom.

Tom racked his brain to remember anything related to the man in front of him. _Fancy hair? Nah. Proper posture? Nah. Clever attitude? Nah. Heavy accent? Nah - Wait! Accent. French. FRENCH ACCENT!_ Tom gasped out loud.

"You're the bartender from the pub!" Tom exclaimed in realization. "What was your name again? It began with a J. Jacque? Jason? Jack?"

"It's Jacob." The man answered for him, rolling his eyes with a small grin. "But that's only my undercover name."

Tom eyed him curiously. "So, who are you really?" He asks.

"Allow me to properly introduce myself, I am Patrick." He placed one hand over his chest and did a little bow. Strange, considering Tom's current position. "Red leader's most trusted soldier. Well, at least one of them." He muttered the last part quietly.

Tom tilted his head, raising one eyebrow. "Patrick? That doesn't sound very French." He murmurs. "And Red leader? Is that what Tord calls himself nowadays?" At least he isn't calling himself the hentai lord or something stupid. Tom silently snickers at the thought.

"French? I'm Polish!" Patrick pouted and exclaimed in indignation. "And yes. If you must know, the one you once used to know as your former friend is now the infamous Red leader. Aren't cha proud?" He explained, regaining his composure.

"Tord was never my friend." Tom snarled glancing downwards at his feet. "And I couldn't care less about what he does with the rest of his life. Heck, he could become a stripper for all I care and still wouldn't care! As long as my friends and I don't get involved, I'm good."

"But you are involved now." Patrick reminded, not fazed by the brit's aggressive tone. "And so will your friends if you don't be careful."

"Why do you care?" Tom scoffed. "Wouldn't you be pleased if I screwed up and get experimented on? Your organization will finally have the so called monster serum Tord's been obsessing over, and you'll be one step closer to world domination."

"You're not eating."

Tom stiffened and reared his head back in surprise, blinking in confusion at the tall soldier. But he was no longer looking at him. Following Patrick's gaze, his eyes found the tray of food laid on the table. He released the breath he wasn't even aware he was holding in relief.

"I'm not hungry." Tom says, ignoring the pain bubbling in his stomach at the sight of food. The meal itself wasn't all that spectacular. It was just, what appears to be some kind of brown stew, presumably beef, and a little red jelly on the side for the dessert. Tom rolled his eyes. _Of course it's red._

But it's been so long since he last seen any food. All he's been consuming this whole time was simply Smirnoff, and with the display of food, even if it is mediocre quality, it still made Tom's mouth water. He ripped his gazed away from the tray, and look down at his feet. Patrick simply frowned at him.

"I presume it's been quite a while since you last eaten." He noted, eyeing the blue hooded brit and his weakened form. "Surely you must eat at some point."

"Yeah? How do I know you haven't put some sort of drugs in the food to knock me out or brainwash my mind to comply?" Tom challenged but in a quieter tone. He's feeling too many things at once to put up a fight now. He's going with his last resorts at this point.

Patrick sighed. "Look, I know you have no reason to trust me, but understand I just did what my leader ordered me to do." He explained. "However, I am quite aware this does not excuse my actions. And for that I'm sorry. But I assure you this food isn't tainted in any way."

"Prove it." Tom glared at Patrick in defiance.

Patrick shrugged. He pulled out a wrapped, plastic spoon from his chest pocket, ripping it open. He bent down, stirring a bit before scooping the brown stew and ate it. He hummed to prove his point and looked at Tom with a raised eyebrow and a little smile, his expression something like: "Is that enough proof?" It annoyed Tom regardless.

"Fine."

"So you'll eat?"

"No."

Patrick frowned, causing Tom to smirk slightly. The soldier sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation.

"Red leader will not be pleased if you continue to defy him." He murmured.

"Whatever, it's not like my situation can worsen at this point." Tom scoffed, feeling stubborn.

"Need I remind you of the lingering threat hanging over your head for your defiance? Your friends will have to suffer along with you as well." Patrick pointed out with crossed arms over his chest, tapping one foot repeatedly over the tiled floor.

_Oh yeah, there's that factor._ Tom remembered drily, his muscles clenching in anxiousness. _I still have yet to think about Tord's offer._ He stared down at his chequered shoes, deep in thought, and seemingly ignoring Patrick's presence.

"If I am not being too bold, may I offer a piece of advice?" The soldier offered softly, knowing this is a touchy subject.

Tom reflected on his proposition, one side of him refusing to hear whatever he has to say, but he was curious and honestly so very lost in his decision that he'll take all the help he can get. Stiffly, Tom nodded his head for him to carry on.

"If I were you, I would want to get on Red leader's good side." Patrick went on. "You definitely wouldn't want to be at the opposing end of his fury. He'll break you in every way possible otherwise. It's for the best if you just go along with him."

Tom wanted to laugh, of course Tord's most loyal soldier would say a thing like that, but the heavy feeling weighting down his chest made him unable to. He just listened to him numbly. Clearly there aren't many choices for him to pick.

Patrick sighed once more, fixing the collar of his uniform. "I'll leave you to your thoughts; just consider it with caution, Tom." He murmured, looking down at the tray of untouched food. "I'll leave this here; in case you change your mind." He slowly walked away, leaving Tom's line of sight. His footsteps echoing.

"Wait." Tom called out.

The footsteps stopped and silence followed after. Tom took it as his queue to carry on.

"If you were in the exact same position as me, what would you do?" He asked. He knows this is a stupid question and the answer is obvious, but he needs a confirmation. "If you had fallen into the hands of the person you hated most in the world, and they wanted something from you, something that you're not all that keen on keeping in the first place, and-" Tom gulped hard, his mouth going dry. "And you may not be entirely yourself, what would you do?"

A long silenced met his words, and for a moment Tom was worried Patrick might not answer him at all. But eventually he heard a click of the tongue and a sigh.

"I would do what I think it's best. Not for me perhaps, but for others mostly" He answered. "Even If I'm miserable and would potentially suffer, I at least would be more relieved knowing my friends and loved ones are well away from anything. If your friends meant anything to you, that's something to think about."

The heavy door creaked open, illuminating the room momentarily before it slammed shut. But the light remained on. Now Tom is truly alone with his thoughts. Sort of. He went back to think over his dilemma.

Tom decided to think of pros and cons of each decision. If he were to accept, he'll be given some luxuries; but he'll be submitting to Tord, get experimented on, and bring out the beast from within. If he refuses, he'll continue to stay strong, defy Tord, and keep the beast at bay for a while longer; but his friends will be thrown into the mess and go through the same stuff as he will.

He could go through anything Tord decides to throw at him. If he wants to cut him open and poke around his organs, he can get through. If he wants to electrocute him, he'll make it. If he wants to dip his head into a barrel of acid, Tom will find a way to endure it. It doesn't really faze him anymore, maybe it will have quite the opposite effect. But his friends, who have been nothing but kind and constantly worrying about him, do not deserve any of this.

With great remorse, Tom remembered the times he spent with his friends having fun. Edd being his cheerful, silly self; always cracking jokes and going out of his way to make others smile. And Matt's oblivious attitude combined with his pride and vanity made him so innocent, but he would never allow his friends to get hurt without at least attempting to fight back and defend them.

Tom felt a little smile come to his features. That is until he remembered the last time he saw them. He was mad at them back them, but only because they didn't understand his situation. In an effort to protect them from his secret, he pushed them away when they were just trying to help him. They were always there for him and suffered a lot due to Tord's betrayal, and Tom was just rude and mean back to them.

_"Don't expect me back so soon."_

Those were the last words he spoke to them before going out. Tom flinched at the memory, his gut twisting in pain, whether from guilt or lack of food, Tom wasn't sure but it was most likely the former. Then there's also the fact he lost himself to his anger and almost hit Matt. Tom didn't want to think of the effects it would've caused on the ginger if Edd hadn't stop him. _How could I've been so ungrateful?_ He thought.

Tom felt his eyes watering, and prick the corners, threatening to spill. _Not now. Don't be weak. Be strong._ He told himself in an effort to calm down, taking deep breaths. He's been concealing his emotions for a while now. Whenever he gets hurt, or being tormented by the voices, Tom would always make sure to disguise the pain and bruises with a smile and an outgoing attitude. Just so his friends won't have to get involved with his problems. But now, he's alone in a room, and his emotions are flooding up; a sob escapes him. He can't remember the last time he allowed himself to cry.

No. He does. It was when he first found out about his fits of blacking out. When he woke up the next morning and watched the news, he realized something is seriously wrong with him. He doesn't want to hurt anyone. He doesn't want to become that – **THING.** Pain and alcohol are the only things that aid Tom in keeping it in check. But now he's being forced to reveal it, and all his efforts will go to waste. And it's **ALL TORD'S FAULT.**

Tom, with watery eyes, raised his head slightly to look at the tray of food, still neatly placed in front of him. His gaze fixed specifically on the red jelly. So bright in colour, standing still, as if it was mocking him. Tom growled, baring his teeth. His grief and anger merged into one, he couldn't contain his emotions at bay this time and he **SNAPPED.**

Tom lurched forward, not caring about the chains digging into his skin, he lashed out at the tray of food. He couldn't reach very far, but with his teeth, he gripped the tray and with all the strength he could muster at this point he swung and tossed it off the table. It clanked on the tile floor, the bowl of stew shattering and spilling its contents, and the jelly deformed into little chunks. Tom panted, glaring at the mess before leaning back in his seat, attempting to calm down.

Tom came to a conclusion. Even though he doesn't really want to, his pride and stubborn side refusing him to cooperate, Tom knows the choice is obvious on this. Even if he has to go through all kinds of tests for Tord to perfect his serum formula, he'll take it. Just so he can pay back his friends for all the kindness they've shown him. They don't deserve any more pain. If anything, they are better off without him. He'll miss them, sure, but it's for the best.

However, Tom has a few things to say before taking the deal.

**(Time skip)**

Many hours passed, Tom forced himself to stay awake the whole time and think about his decision. Whenever he was close to falling unconscious, Tom would slam his head against the chair to keep him awake. Though, the pain dulled over time and he eventually became numb to it. Now he's left with a pounding headache and very sore muscles.

Tom closed his eyes momentarily, only to snap them open by the sound of the heavy door creaking open behind him. Footsteps approached him. Tom took a deep breath. He knew what was coming now.

"Morning!" Came Tord's greeting in a singsong voice, his tone smug. "Hope you had a good night's rest." He leaned over Tom's chair, popping up into his line of vision. His smile faded when he noticed the brit's dark bags under his eyes and the serious expression on his face. "Wow, somebody had a rough night." He commented playfully and with a smirk while chuckling.

Tom didn't respond, just blankly glared at him through his dark sockets.

Tord walked around him, making way over to his own seat. On the way, he looked over to the mess of food still scattered around the floor just a few meters away from them. He frowned.

"Either the food wasn't to your liking, or you felt rebellious." Tord murmured, taking his seat with his feet propped over the table and leaning his chair back. "Either way, I hope you won't repeat the same mistake in the future. It would be a shame if I had to teach you a lesson so soon."

Tom remained quiet. He just sat there analysing the Norwegian leader across from him. He noticed he's holding a file in one hand and was fanning himself with it. They just stayed in silence, staring each other down, waiting for one of them to break the silence and speak.

Tord was the one to break away, putting his feet down and sitting up properly. "Alright, so before we get to your final decision, I would like to discuss the terms of our deal." He spoke, placing the folder down and flipping it open.

"So, if you were to willingly submit to my experiments you would be given: at least 2 quality meals a day, including dessert. Two hours of exercising under supervision. Painkillers or anaesthetics during procedures and tests. Physical and mental evaluation once a week. And last but not least, expansion of luxuries and freedom if well-behaved." Tord explained, folding his hands in front of him. "The last part connects with the rules, which I will get into later, but only if you agree."

Tom remained silent, analysing the terms. It does sound nice. But he has a few terms of his own.

"If I were to agree with the deal, I demand a few requests in return." Tom announced, finally speaking. His voice strong and clear, disguising the turmoil inside.

Tord raised an eyebrow, feeling intrigued. "Oh? Feeling bold are we?" He taunted slyly. "I don't think you're in any position to be making demands of me."

"I don't know, Tord. If you went through all the effort to kidnap and threaten me, these demands should be easy enough." Tom challenged. "After all, you do want the serum perfected with the easiest way possible; and you'll only achieve that through my compliance. Now isn't that right?" He smirked slightly, feeling a tiny twinge of victory over his nemesis. He was being too bold, but he could care less. I f he has to go through hell with this guy, the least he can do is do the things he wants from him in return.

Tord's eye twitched slightly in annoyance, but he sighed. "All right, what is it that you want?" He prompted.

"I have three requests, actually." Tom corrected. "First, you said that if I complied you would not involve my friends in this. So you have to swear if I go through with this you will stay far away from them."

Tord rolled his eye. "Fine. Sounds easy enough." He agreed, but his voice was tight. "What else?"

"Second, Matt and Edd will notice I've been gone for far too long, and most likely go out to try and find me." Tom went on. "You'll probably not want to lose me, since I'm your last and only chance. So if they do go searching for me-" He stopped, taking in a shaky breath. "You'll have to make it seem like I am dead."

Tord's eye widened a little in surprise, before scratching his chin and humming deep in thought. Tom, on the other hand, was gripping the chair with all his strength. His knuckles turning white, trying to control his emotions. In order to keep them safe, he'll have to hurt them one last time. They will be devastated, but they will be far away from Tord's reach, and hopefully move on and forget all about him.

He turned his attention back to Tord, as he hummed once more. "Interesting. You do have a point." He commented. "Very well, I'll make sure all your traces are gone and make it seem like you died in some tragic accident. And what about the last part?"

Tom gulped, swallowing his emotions with great struggle. It's now or never. "I don't want to be given any anaesthetics during the procedures." He states.

"What?!" Tord gasps with shock, genuinely surprised by the demand.

"I don't want drugs of any sort during these experiments." Tom goes on to explain. "Painkillers, anaesthetics, morphine, any type of drug that nulls the pain. Unless I specifically ask for it, I don't want any of it."

Tord's eye is wide, his mouth hanging open slightly as he can't believe in what he's hearing. Tom would've laughed at the sight if it weren't for the seriousness of the situation. Tord shook his head, quickly trying to compose himself. "I-I, well you see, I can't exactly guarantee this." Tord stuttered slightly, still taken by surprise. "The experiments you'll go through can be severe, even right down deadly. And I can't risk losing you." He made his point, but his eye widened significantly when he realized how the last statement sounded. "I-I mean, because you're my last shot at this serum, and if I were to lose you I would have to start from scratch." He corrected.

Tom rolled his non-existent eyes unimpressed. "Then use the drugs as a last resort." He insisted. "Unless I am in risk of dying, you don't use the drugs. Do we have a deal or not?"

Tord blinked but relaxed to think things over. He doesn't know why Tom wouldn't want the painkillers, as it would relieve him of all the pain he'll have to go through, but it's none of his business. At least, not anymore. Sure, there's the risk he could lose him, but if he keeps a close eye on his vitals and be careful, he can make sure it doesn't happen.

Tord fixed his gaze on Tom, a smirk pricking the corners of his mouth. "Does that mean you will comply with me?" He prompted, already tasting the victory within his reach.

Tom sighed in defeat. "Only if you go through with all my demands." He murmured, glaring at smug leader.

Tord grinned. "Then we have a deal."

He raised his metal hand, and for a moment Tom thought he has extending it towards him to shake it, to which he would've remarked on how is he supposed to do it with his hands restrained. But Tord folded the red, metallic hand in front of him and with his other hand, pressed one of the buttons.

"Patrick, please escort test subject #1826 to the lab and get him ready." He spoke to the communicator installed on his prosthetic arm. "I'll join you shortly, but I must deal with a few things first."

_"Yes, sir!"_

Tord released the button, shutting off the communicator, and pressed a different button. Tom watched in confusion and curiosity, when suddenly the seat beneath him shifted. The legs of the chair changed into a pair of wheels, and as he stared down the sides in amazement, a new restraint reached out from the back and chained his neck against it, making him unable to turn his head or lean forward. Tom struggled against the pressure but let himself relaxed when he realized it wasn't choking him.

Tord pushed back his seat, getting up and fixing his uniform. "Well, I'm glad we reached an agreement without too much of a fuss." He says, walking around Tom to head out. But before he left he stopped momentarily in front of him, ruffling his hair slightly with his gloved hand. Tom growled at the contact and the fact he could not move his head away anymore. "Behave while I'm gone." Tord tells him, leaving the room.

Suddenly, Tom's chair moved. He tried to turn his head up, but the restraints wouldn't let him. He gazed upwards as far as his vision would let him, and caught a glimpse of a blue uniform and a tuft of brown hair. Tom deduced it was none other than the soldier he encountered before, since he was the one Tord called for. Tom was being pushed out the room, when they were stopped.

"Oh, and Patrick." Tord's voice called out once more, halting them. "If he does something, step out of line or try anything funny, you have my permission to electrocute him if necessary."

"Yes, sir." Patrick's familiar accented voice replied back. With that, Tom was wheeled out the room to meet his fate. This is his life now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we're getting started. What do you think of it so far? Sorry for the late update, i got sick and it's been a tough week in general. We'll get more into Tom's problems as the story goes on, but i've already given enough hints to make it out. Now let the angst commence!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let the tests begin!

Patrick wheeled Tom out the room, passing through the heavy metal door and heading into a long corridor. Tom has his back pressed firmly against the chair, unable to turn his head and look at the surroundings, he just shifted his gaze around as far it could to observe. There are other people around aside from just Tord and Patrick, it seems. Most of them wore the same red and blue uniform, but once in a while Tom would spot someone wearing a lab coat.

The entirety of the corridor is painted a dull grey, with tiled black and white floor, many doors on each side, and signs on every corner motioning to different areas of the facility. The signs are red with white letters, and they didn't seem to have anything special. However, when Patrick turned a corner, Tom caught sight of a sign on the opposite direction saying: "Test room."

Tom stared at the sign a bit longer before it disappeared from his line of sight. _Test room? Sounds interesting…_ He thought. Tom kept a secret plan, well hidden in the back of his mind. Since he'll have to endure through whatever Tord decides to throw at him, why not find out as much as he can in the process? Sure, he may never get the opportunity to look around the facility on his own, but if the chance ever arises…

Tom continued to be pushed through the corridors by Patrick, still looking around the place for points of interest. He spotted a sign at the very end of the corridor. This one caught his eye because unlike most of the other ones, it wasn't red and white; it was black and dark gray instead and it read: "Morgue."

Tom raised an eyebrow curiously. _A morgue? Tord has one of those?_ He wondered. Considering they are some kind of army, and most of them are soldiers, it is to be expected there to be ones who don't come back from their missions. Well, breathing at least. _Add that to the list._ He made sure to remember. Even though it would be obvious as to what he might find in there, it was still necessary to check it out.

As they turned another corner, Tom was faced with a set of metal double doors. He tried to crane his neck up and look through the small, round windows and peer inside, but the restraint on his neck kept him still. The heavy doors were pushed open as Tom was wheeled in and he was met with…

A clinic.

A boring, ordinary, clinic.

Tom looked around in surprise. He was expecting some sort of torture dungeon with iron maiden coffins, racks and guillotines. Instead he was met with a nice, clean clinic looking place. There was a metal bench in the centre, a wooden desk with writing materials over to the corner, bookshelves to the left, and glass cabinets to the right. Tom also noted the scale positioned in the far, right corner; and a stadiometer on the opposite side.

Without realizing, Tom released the breath he was holding in relief.

"Tense?" He heard Patrick ask from behind him. Tom frowned.

"You would be if you were in my position." He retorted.

The polish soldier let out a sigh. "This part isn't so bad, I assure you. Imagine that you are in a doctor's appointment." He says. "We'll just have to take a few samples from you. Learn your height, weight, blood type and ask you some questions before then real tests start."

A doctor's appointment? Sure, he could imagine that. The only difference is that the doctor is an insane, maniac, Norwegian, communist, douchebag that can't wait to get his hands on him. Tom laughed silently at the thought. Suddenly, with a push of a button and a loud "click" the restraints keeping him tied to the chair let him free. Tom, astonished by the sudden sense of freedom in his arms and legs after spending such a long time sitting down, rubbed his sore wrists that were red with markings. He attempted to stand up but his legs were half-asleep and he almost lost his balance if Patrick hadn't reached out for him.

"Careful." He advised as Tom unwillingly leaned on him for support. If he was able to stand and walk properly, he would've pushed the soldier away; even if he was helpful. But since he can't, Tom swallowed his pride and allowed himself to get semi-carried over to the metal bench. He heaved himself over and sat down on top of it.

"So now what?" He asks, still looking around while rubbing his arms; trying to regain the feeling back on them.

"Well, I guess I could start by taking samples of your blood." Patrick concluded, walking away over to a cabinet. "I'll get the stuff, you stay there and pull up one of your sleeves please."

Tom looked up to see Patrick with his back turned to him, and the path to the door cleared with nothing to stop him. _Does he trust me enough to think I won't escape?_ He thought. Tom was thinking of taking the chance, but knew it would only lead him to trouble. He has no idea where the exit is, the facility looks huge, and too many soldiers around to spot him. And if he were to run into Tord…

Definitely not a good idea. Yet.

Tom grumbled in defeat and was just about to pull up the sleeve of his left arm when he stopped himself. He remembers the current state of his arm; recalling the nights when he couldn't take the voices anymore, and in his drunken state he had grabbed a razor to drown them out with pain. He did everything in his power to hide his many bruises, burns and scars over the last few months; concealing the pain he was going through from his friends. Masking it with a long hoodie and a casual smile, hiding his true emotions inside.

But these aren't his friends, so why should he bother to hide his bruises from them? They will figure it out eventually if the tests require exposure. But still, something in Tom's mind didn't feel right in showing them so openly; especially not to Tord. What will he think when he learns of is condition? His cocky attitude will certainly grow; proud that his nemesis was in such a weakened state and take advantage of him then. He can't let that happen.

Tom pulled up the sleeved of his right arm instead. Although it was bruised as well, it wasn't in such a state as his right one and the markings could pass on as scratches from a mere accident in the kitchen or something.

Patrick returned to him, holding a syringe in one hand and wearing latex gloves. "You ready? This might sting just a little." He spoke.

Tom rolled his eyes. "It may not look like it, but I've been to a doctor before. I know how a blood test works." He says in irritation. _Why is he treating me like a toddler? I may be here against my will but doesn't mean I'm scared of everything._

Patrick ignored his rude comment and approached him. He placed the needle of the syringe just over his vein before piercing the skin. Tom didn't flinch or hiss, just slowly blinked as he watched the crimson liquid fill the little container.

Patrick pulled away, walking away towards the desk again. "Are you going to take more blood?" Tom asks, unsure if he should pull his sleeved down again.

"No. I think this is just the right amount." Patrick replies form across the room. "But if we ever need to make more tests in the future, which is highly plausible, we'll take more blood then."

Tom hummed in understanding, pulling down the sleeve of his arm. He looked towards Patrick, who has his back turned and was meddling around with the desk. Tom tried to lean sideways and look over to see what exactly he was doing, but the soldier's form kept blocking his view and he couldn't make it out.

Patrick turned back to him with a small smile. "Well, that's one procedure over and done with." He murmurs. "Now I'll take your height and weight. Take off your shoes and socks please."

Tom nodded, pulling out his shoes with his own feet and then taking out his socks; stuffing them inside his shoes. He then pulled himself off the bench and placed his feet down on the cold, hard tiled floor. His legs were feeling a little wobbly still, but he slowly made it across the room to where Patrick stood straight beside the scale.

"Step on the scale and look straight ahead." He instructed.

Tom did as he was told, stepping over the small machine and looking up and around. The scale made a small "beep" sound and Patrick jotted down in his notepad. Tom heard the soldier make a clicking sound with his tongue and shook his head. Tom raised an eyebrow, looking at him through the corner of his eye and wondering what was going on through his mind at the moment. Tom was well aware of his diminishing weight, but if questioned he can just make up an excuse about going on a diet.

"Alright, now on to the height." Patrick hummed, still writing on his notes.

Tom rolled his sockets, already getting tired of the procedures he's going through so far. Who knows how many he'll do in total. Tord knows, most likely; but I's not like he'll ever ask him. Tom walks up to the stadiometer, pressing his back against the metallic line. Patrick stood next to him, analysing his height. The soldier grumbled slightly at the sight of the long, spiky hair covering his view and disrupting the procedure, he then moved one hand to press down against Tom's hair to flatten it and see the real height. Tom chuckled slightly. His hair has always been a bothersome factor when it comes to height. Not to him, he sees it as some type of advantage, but to others… Oh, how many people has he upset in the cinema over the years?

Tom came back from his musings when Patrick hummed once again and wrote down his notepad. "Is that all?" He asks, stepping out the stadiometer and moving to put his shoes back on.

"Not quite."

At the sound of the voice, Tom turns to the set of large doors just in time to see it swing close as Tord steps into the room. Tom scowls in his direction but then realizes he was not alone this time. Beside the smug Norwegian, a very familiar looking soldier stood next to him. Tom was not mistaken, he could recognise those bushy eyebrows and eye scar anywhere.

"Jeremy!" Tom exclaimed, glaring at the soldier with clenched fists.

Both the soldier and Tord blinked a couple of times in surprise. Tord then turned to face Jeremy with a questioning look and a grin of amusement on his face.

"Is that what you call yourself now days?" He asks with a playful tone of voice, poking the pouting soldier in the cheek.

"Forgive me for my bluntness, sir, but I thought a name that differs from mine would suit best for going undercover. You know, with us being wanted by authorities and all." The soldier defends himself. "Much better than your name, in my opinion." Now it was his turn to joke as he gave Tord a knowing look.

Tom was confused by the exchange. He already guessed Jeremy was working with Tord, with him playing a part in his capture back in the pub, but the way they were interacting… It just seemed so weird somehow.

Tord, in response to Jeremy's teasing comment, didn't rebuke or demand respect from his soldier. Instead, he simply smiled, laughed and gave Jeremy a light punch in the shoulder with his normal hand. Tom, for some reason, felt angry while watching them interact as if they were the best of friends. It felt wrong.

"Uh, hello?! I'm still here!" Tom waved his arms around, trying to gain their attention. "And I want some answers!"

Tord turned his one-eyed gaze back to Tom. He cleared his throat, fixing the collar of his uniform. "Tom, meet Paul. One of my most trusted soldiers in the army. Along with Patrick, of course" He introduced. "And he will be the one to evaluate your physical condition, as part of our deal. While Patrick will be the one doing your mental evaluation, since you two seem to be getting along so well."

Tom paid no heed to what he was saying. Too busy glaring at the bushy eyebrowed soldier to really come up with anything to say in response. He was fuming in anger from the inside. Clenching his fists and teeth, breathing heavily and shaking slightly as he tried to control his temper. The feeling of betrayal he was going through; it wasn't a stranger to him anymore, but it hurts all the same. He thought back to that night in the pub. Back then, he thought Jeremy was friendly and perhaps a good companion. Just proves to show he can't trust anyone.

Paul met his angered stare with one of indifference. But inside he was feeling remorse for his actions. He thought Tom was a nice guy; fun to hang around, and just maybe they could've been friends under different circumstances. But he is and forever will be loyal to Tord, and he did what was ordered of him. Capture Tom and bring him in unharmed. Though, he did feel bad for having to trick the brit into believing he was his friend.

The uncomfortable silence and tension was disrupted when Tord cleared his throat once more. Snapping both the test subject and the soldier out of their dazed thoughts. "So, Patrick? Where were you before we got here?" He asks, walking towards the desk where Patrick sat with his notes.

"Oh, just finished measuring the test subject's weight and height, sir." Patrick reports, not looking up from his work.

"Have you taken a blood sample yet?" He prompts, earning a nod and a hum in confirmation. "And what about the lumbar puncture?"

Patrick looks up from his work in surprise. "I didn't know that was part of the requirement, since you didn't do it for any of the other test subjects until much later on." He points out. "Why do it now, sir?"

Tord didn't answer right away. He glanced at Tom over his shoulder, seeing if he was paying any attention to what they were discussing, but the brit was still locked in a stare down with Paul; who looked uncomfortable now under the intense, eyeless stare.

"He already has a bit of the serum inside of him, and I suspect he has been feeling the side effects more often than not." Tord finally replied, quietly, so Tom would not hear him. "I need to make sure I give him the right dosage or else he'll just turn up like the others."

Patrick nodded in understanding, walking away to get the necessary tools ready for the procedure. Tord turned away to glance at Tom, a smirk coming up to his features as he clasped both his hands together. _Now, this part is going to hurt._ He thought eagerly.

"Alright Tom, come here so we can perform one last exam on you." Tord called in a cheerful tone. But Tom didn't give any indication of hearing him, or budge. Tord frowned. "Are you not going to comply?" He prompted warningly, one hand over one of the buttons on his robotic arm. But Tord allowed himself to take a deep breath and calm down. It was too early to do anything drastic to him. Which reminded him, he still has to lay out the rules to Tom. Tord then smiled, as he recalled a few ways to attract Tom's attention. Or rather, a few ways to piss off the brit.

With a mischievous smirk, Tord put the fingers of his left hand on his mouth and whistled loudly. "Come here boy! I got a surprise for you!" Tord called out eagerly, whistling again. "Come on! You'll get a treat if you do!" That did the trick.

Tom's head whipped away from Paul at lightning speed and turned his darkened glare on to Tord. A growl rumbled at the back of his throat as he marched his way over to the Norwegian leader, who was grinning widely and trying not to laugh.

"Listen here you stupid, commie, prick!" Tom snarles, pointing a finger in Tord's direction as he approached him. "I may have given you permission to experiment, and do god know's what to me. But I. Am. Not. A. Dog! And like hell would I ever do anything you say! I'm not one of your stupid soldiers, that you can just boss around!"

Tord just kept grinning, both his arms folded over his chest with one eyebrow reaised. "Oh really?" He challenges.

"Yeah!"

"Then how come you made your way over to me? Just like I ordered you…" Tord stated slyly, watching Tom's expression closely and with amusement.

Tom, snapped out of his angry thoughts at the realization. He looked around and realized he had indeed obeyed Tord. He didn't mean to. He was just so angry that he hadn't really noticed his actions. He only saw, well, for the lack of a better word, red. He also took notice o Paul and Patrick's shocked expressions, as they watched the two of them argue and thinking the worst case scenario for him. Not many can openly challenge the red leader and continue breathing.

Tom felt slightly dumb for unintentionaly obeying to Tord's command. But he felt the anger rise within him again, and he glared at the Norsk, who wasn't the least bit intimidated.

"Well, now that you are here, you can get propped up for the next exam." Tord suggests, motioning to some sort of strap machine behind him. It looked like a medieval torture devide in Tom's opinion; he didn't like it one bit.

"I though it was supposed to be only a blood exam." Tom says, narrowing his eyes at the contraption. "What else is needed that I have to be held down in… this?" He asks.

"Don't worry. It's just a small lumbar puncture." Tord reassured, putting an arm around Tom's shoulder. "It will be over quick."

Tom pulled away from him harshily. "Why do you need my spinal fluid for?" He demands. Pointing a finger and glaring at him.

"Oh, just making sure you are healthy enough for the procedures." Tord explained, slowly stepping closer to the enraged brit. He raised his robotic hand, reaching out to him. Tom flinched away, raising one fist back.

"Get away from me!" Tom snarls as he throws a punch his way. But it didn't make contact. It was blocked. Tord effortlesly caught his punch with his robotic hand and was keeping him there. Tom tried to give another punch with his free arm, only to be blocked again. Tord twisted his arm behind his back, with Tom biting his mouth shut to keep from crying out.

"I guess we'll just have to do this the hard way, don't we?" He heard Tord hiss into his ear. Suddenly he was being hauled back. Tom tried to struggle in the Norwegian's hold, desperately trying to get out, but to no avail.

Tom was harshily thrown back againt the metal contraption. He tried to get up and leave as fast as possible, but Tord was quicker. He held him down and began to strap him up. Tom trashed agaisnt the restraints and tried to attack Tord in anyway possible; but it was proven futile when he was succesfuly straped down with both his arms and legs apart, and his body suspended.

"There!" Tord exclaimed, stepping back to look at the result. Tom glowered and snarled his way. Running a hand through his now messy hair, Tord fixed his uniform and cleared away the invisible dust' taking a deep breath.

"Now that tempertantrum is over with, I will explain the rules to you." The arm leader clasped his hands together and began to pace around the restrainted brit. "Break any of these rules, and I will personaly take away one of your privilages."

"Number 1#, you will not refuse a direct order from me." He explained. "If I tell you to do something, I expect you to do it, and I won't be as nice as I was now and give you warnings. Same goes for both Paul and Patrick. You will not disobey or act rudely towards either of them."

Tom snorted at that. _Nice? Does he call forcefuly restraining me nice?_ He thought bewildred.

"Number 2#, you are not allowed to leave the lab unless supervised. Preferebly by either Patrick or Paul." He went on. "Number 3#, no alcohol." At that, he stopped pacing to stare at Tom with narrowed eyes. Tom glared back at him with bared teeth. "Number 4#, no contact with the outside world. Which means: No phones, internet, or going to the surface."

_The surface?_ Tom thought curiously. He did presume they were in some sort of underground facility; with no windows around and all that. But how far away they were from civilazation?

"And lastly number 5#." Tord continued on, stopping in front of Tom with a straight posture. "Any signs of agression or phisical harm towards your leader or any members will not be tolerated. I am willing to overlook this recent incident; but next time I will not be as merciful." He warned cooly, but suddenly lashed out at Tom. He latched his metalic hand to the brit's throat, choking him. Tom gasped for breath while also trying to get the prosthetic hand off of him, but with both his arms restrained it was impossible.

"Am I clear on that fact?" Tord questioned, bringing his face closer to Tom's. In retaliation, despite the lack of air and the current position he was in, Tom glared right back at him. No trace of fear in him. Instead, he merely chuckled and grinned his way.

"W-whate-ver you say, c-commie." He choked out an answer.

Tord released him, shoving him back. He took a few steps back and glanced in the direction his soldiers stood. Watching their interaction in shocked silence; not daring speaking up a word. "Patrick, go ahead and do the procedure." He ordered.

Patrick, who had the needle in his hands, seemed hesitant; but not for the reason one might think of at first. "Actually, sir, may I have a word with you? In private, please?" He suggests, tilting his head to the side and motioning towards another door to a different room.

Tord raised an eyebrow curiously, but Patrick just tilted his head again and he nodded in understanding. He sighed. "Alright. Paul, you get the procedure done while we're gone." He commanded, turning his attention to the other soldier. As he walked away, following Patrick out the room, he looked back as he reached the door. "If he yaps, ignore him; he does that a lot. But if he starts to struggle, I give you permission to strike him if needed."

Paul gulped but slowly nodded. "Yes, sir."

With that, Tord left the room, slamming the door shut behind him; leaving the gruff, brawny soldier alone with the anger prone, restrained test subject in the same room together. Surely only good things can come from this?


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom plays a game with Tord, and it doesn't go over well... Meanwhile, Edd and Matt receive terrible news.

Silence. There was only a dead, awkward silence after Tord and Patrick left the room. Neither Tom or Paul made any effort to talk, making it seem like a long game of: "who talks first". Tom was too busy glaring at the ground to pay the soldier any notice anyway. His mind kept replaying his recent encounter with Tord. _Stupid Tord, with his stupid army, stupid soldiers, stupid robotic arm, and stupid f#cking serum._ He thought angrily. _He thinks he can boss me around and treat me like trash just because I gave him permission to._

Meanwhile, Paul simply didn't know what to do. Tord ordered him to get done with the procedure, but on the other hand, Tom seemed unstable and unpredictable; who knows what he'll do in the state he's currently in. Sure, he's restrained, but still highly dangerous. Especially if what Tord says it's true. If Tom does indeed have a part of the monster serum inside of him, he could potentially change at any given moment and attack him. Regardless, Paul was not looking forward to this at all.

So, until Tord gets back or he musters up the courage to just go ahead and do it, Paul just stood there; shifting his legs uncomfortably and rocking back and forth while humming a little tune in his mind.

Tom caught movement in his visual perimeter and saw Paul, trying to distract himself. Tom almost could've laughed at the sight, but he quickly crushed whatever speck of humour there was in him, when he remembered that said soldier was the reason he was there to begin with.

"Aren't you supposed to be experimenting on me?" Tom questions irritably, breaking the silence and snapping Paul out of his daze.

Paul stops rocking on his feet and blinks at Tom in surprise. The brit just glares at him, raising one eyebrow, waiting for him to say something. Paul felt himself shrink under the intense eyeless glare. He cleared his throat uncomfortably, fumbling with the collar of his uniform while trying to think of what to say.

"I- uh, to be honest, I'm not very good with this science junk." Paul stammered nervously. "It's better be safe than sorry, especially in such a delicate procedure."

"Won't Tord get mad that you disobeyed him?" Tom prompted curiously. "He did say for you to go ahead and do it."

Paul chuckled slightly, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. "Oh, well, maybe. But I don't worry too much about it, even if I screw up a lot." He says. "I'm already use to leader's temperament issues, and unlike most of the other soldiers around here, Patrick and I are a lot closer to him. We're friends."

Something about the way Paul said the last part made Tom feel weird. And not in the bad way, or the good one either. Just the weird… Weird category. It was hard to explain to say the least. Tom can clearly tell Paul isn't trying to be mean with his statement, in fact, he looks rather nervous and frightened in his presence; which is a good change of pace considering his current position the last few hours. Paul was simply explaining to him his relationship with Tord, but something he said made Tom want to laugh and cry at the same time.

"Friends? Tord?" Tom echoed sceptically before giving a harsh laugh. "I know Tord since Kindergarten, he grew up with Edd, Matt and I; and although I never considered him my friend in particular, Matt and Edd were clearly attached to him. You would think after all these years together they would be inseparable, but look how it all turned out. Tord betrayed them, and he will do the same to you. He doesn't have friends."

Another awkward silence met his words. Paul didn't say anything to argue against his statement; his eyes cast downward and a dark look came to them. After a long, uncomfortable silence, Paul mumbled under his breath. "If you say so." But Tom heard him. He groaned in exasperation and tried to pull on his restraints with little success.

"So, what? Are we supposed to just stand here until they come back?" Tom says, still struggling.

Paul stared at him, one eyebrow raised and twirling the needle in his hand. "Do you rather take the chance of becoming paralyzed from the waist down?" He prompts challengingly, earning a glare from the brit but he did not answer him. "I thought so- Ops!" He accidentally drops the needle on the ground, bending the tip. He quickly tried to pick it up again and pretend like nothing happened, but the needle was clearly damaged. He heard Tom chuckle, and looked up to give the restrained man a slight, furrowed glare. "You didn't see anything." He muttered.

Tom grinned slightly. "Sure, my spine is so tough that the needle broke." He joked. "I'm sure Tord will believe it."

Paul chuckled before it faded into a frown. He sighed and looked up at Tom. "I know I'll probably never make it up to you properly, but I would just like to say that I am truly sorry for tricking you into this." He murmured apologetically, his gaze casting downwards. "You must understand; I was simply following Tord's orders. But I am aware this doesn't excuse anything, and I really hope you can forgive me. I truly believe that, under the right circumstances, we could be friends."

Tom, letting his guard down, looked at the soldier genuinely surprised and, dare he say, touched? But he shook the feeling off, glaring at the man who's to blame for all of this- Second! That's right. He's only second to the commie bastard.

"You really think your petty apology is enough to earn my forgiveness? No can do, buddy. You'll have to try a lot harder to win me over again." He spat, turning his head away. "If you do really feel bad for what you did, you would let me go and help me escape."

Paul flinched, his eyes showing hurt and worry. "You know I can't do that." He rubbed his arm uncomfortably. "Besides, you agreed to submit to red leader's experiments in return for your friends' safety. If you escape now, the deal will be off and there is no guarantee he won't do as he had threatened."

Tom stopped his attempts to glare at Paul. He was just about to open his mouth and argue when the door opened. Looking over to the respective direction, Tord and Patrick casually strolled into the room. Tord's face was grim and somewhat sombre, while Patrick remained stoic, his face giving away no emotion.

"Paul, did you do the lumbar puncture yet?" Tord asks, making his way over to them with both his hands folded behind his back.

Paul scratched the back of his head. "Well- not really, sir. The thing is- I- the needle-" He stammered nervously, as he tried to get the excuse out, but Tord raised his hand and silenced him wordlessly.

"Good, because we still need to put the tracking chip on test subject 1826 to monitor his vitals more closely." Tord explained, glancing at Tom who was glaring at him in his restraints, then turning to Patrick. "If you can set up the necessary equipment while I have a little talk with our favorite little test subject I would appreciate it."

"Yes, sir." Patrick dipped his head, walking over to the wooden desk.

Tord glanced at Paul and tilted his head. Paul raised an eyebrow in confusion when Tord tilted his head again, motioning towards where Patrick currently worked. Paul understood what he meant and hurried over to join his companion. He passed by Tom, shooting him another apologetic look before turning away, leaving Tom and Tord to face each other once more.

They stood in front of each other, staring down in apprehensive silence. Tom raised an eyebrow as he waited for him to begin, and wondered what Patrick might have said to him in the other room for Tord to want to speak to him again.

Tord calmly strolled forward, one foot at a time as he kept his single gaze fixed on the restrained brit. He stopped when he was right in front of him, barely a meter away from him. Tom narrowed his eyes. He doesn't like the short distance between the two of them and wished he was free to move away. Oddly enough, Tord seemed strangely silent. Even his breathing was quiet, while Tom's heart hammered against his ribcage and blood rushed into his ears, drowning out the noise.

Tom, feeling bored at this point, just wants to get this over and done with. "Ugh, can you stop with the silence and the staring already, commie?" He complained, slumping against the restraints. "If you have something worth saying, just spit it out already! God!"

Tom looked back down at Tord, and was surprised to finally see some emotion in his one, exposed eye; other than smug victory, mocking sympathy, or wicked glee. There was a flash of sadness gleaming in his eye. Tom shook his head. That can't be right.

Much like it had appeared, the flash of emotion was gone, replaced by his air of authority as Tord straightened his back. He cleared his throat, bringing his hands out and pulling out a tablet from behind his back.

"Alright Tom, first things first." Tord says. "I will ask you a couple of basic questions, and you will answer them truthfully and accordingly."

Tom raised an eyebrow curiously. "What kind of questions?"

"just the usual health protocol." Tord answered, flicking through the device, his eye glanced up momentarily above the screen to shoot a quick look at Tom before going back down. "Which I will be in charge of, as of this moment."

Tom's eyes widened. "Wait, what?!" He exclaims, barely believing in what he just heard. "You? You will be monitoring and taking care of MY health?"

If somebody else had come up to him and said Tord was going to take care of him, he would've laughed in their face and called them stupid. Heck, he was feeling the urge to do it so right now. But something in Tord's facial expression seemed genuine and halted his actions before he could even get a laugh out.

"You're serious about this, aren't you?" Tom prompts, earning a deadpanned expression from the Norwegian leader.

"I don't see what the fuss is about." Tord spoke, tapping down into the device. "I'm just going to be responsible in making sure you're always in top notch condition for the tests. Last thing I want right now is you, transmitting some kind of deadly disease all over my base. Lord knows how high the probability is with you in the equation." He muttered the last part under his breath, but still loud enough for Tom to hear.

Tom frowned in discontent. _Great, I have to spend my time answering a bunch of stupid questions for the commie._ He thought dryly, until realization finally hit him as he slowly placed the puzzle pieces together. _Wait, he's going to ask me about my health conditions. Patrick took him out the room to talk alone. He was in charge of verifying my weight. And if he said what I think he said to Tord, this means… Oh no._ Tom began to panic, his breathing quickened as he tried to calm down again.

 _No. No. No. NO! Last thing I need right now is for him to ask me questions about my condition!_ He thought frantically. _I need to get out of this! Anything! Think Tom! What can I do to avoid this?_ He looked wildly around the room for any type of diversion. His eyeless, black sockets landed on Paul and Patrick, who were murmuring quietly to each other over the wooden desk. Tom narrowed his eyes at Paul, remembering the certain night when they first met at the pub. Suddenly, a lot of questions flood his mind. Questions he completely overlooked until now and he never thought of asking. Maybe this could be his chance. Tord, after all, has a lot to answer him and he should give Tom that much in return for his compliance. Reluctant, as it is, it still is compliance.

Tom tilted his head, narrowing his eyes down at Tord as he continued to type in the tablet silently. He cleared his throat. "Hey, uh, Tord? Since we're in the subject of questions, I-I h-have some of my own as well." He says, mentally cringing and cursing himself for stammering and appearing so weak. _Be more assertive!_

Tord chuckled, his one eye glancing back up at him with amusement. "Oh? Is that so?"

Something in his tone of voice made a shiver run down Tom's spine. He mustered up his courage, glaring back down at Tord as he gained back his confidence. "Yeah! And I won't answer your stupid questions until you answer them!" Tom gave himself a proud pat in the back; mentally that is.

He heard Tord hum. Looking down again, he saw him scratch his chin with his robotic hand, deep in thought. He stopped humming, looking at Tom with his trademark grin on his face. Never a good sign.

"Alright Tom, I get your point. So why don't we make things more interesting?" Tord prompted, still grinning. "Let's make it a game of twenty questions. I will ask you one question, you'll answer them honestly, then you get to ask me any question, and I will answer back truthfully. How does that sound?"

Tom Inwardly cringed at the thought. Tord would still get to ask him questions about his condition. He as to avoid it from happening any way he can.

"But how can we even trust each other to answer honestly?" Tom asks. "Nothing is stopping us from lying and it's not like we can disprove it either."

"Well, how about this? If one of us lie or avoid giving complete answers, the other gets the right of giving a short answer in return." Tord proposed. "So, unless you don't want answers that badly, I recommend you answer these questions the best way you can."

"But how will we know the other is lying?" Tom asks.

Tord placed his robotic hand over his chest, above where his heart is. "As leader and commander of the red army, I give you my word that I will answer all your questions in the best of my capabilities." He vowed. "I can only expect the same kind of respect from you in return." He gave Tom a lopsided grin.

Tom glared and scoffed, turning his head away. "Your word means nothing to me." He snarled, but eventually sighed in defeat as he turned back to Tord. "But, I still want answers, and If this is my best bet in getting them, so be it." He murmured. "Fine Tord, I will play your stupid little game."

Tord clasped his hands together in glee, the tablet being held under his normal arm. "Excellent! Then I'll begin." He took out his tablet once more and began to flicker through it. "Now, let's see here…"

"Wait, why do you get to begin with the questions?" Tom demanded, feeling irritated at this point.

"First of all, I am the one in charge here, and I can do whatever I want." Tord spoke smugly. "Second, you asked me two questions already; three, counting this last one. Third, while my questions can be rather simple and easy to answer, I suspect otherwise of your questions, and they will require longer explanations to satisfy your curiosity. Fourth, so far I have answered all of your questions with equally satisfactory answers. Need I say more?"

Tom blinked at Tord, impressed by how ready he was to answer him. He rolled his sockets, groaning in irritation. "Alright Tord! You can start."

Tord chuckled once more before flipping down on the tablet. Tom watched him in apprehension. What is he going to ask him?

"Alright Tom, here's my first question…" Tord began, making Tom grasp the chains of his restraints in horrid anticipation. _God, here it comes._ He thought, already expecting the worst and how he can explain himself.

"When was your last doctor's appointment?"

Tom let's out the breath he was holding in relief. Tord blinked, waiting for him to answer. Tom bit his lip as he thought about it. When WAS the last time he went to a doctor?

Well, he did need to get treatment for his arm that one time… wait, no, he bandaged it himself. There was that time he got hit by a car… Oh wait, he walked it off. There was also that one time when he got sick; food poisoning from eating a rotten fish, and he vomited constantly, sometimes even blood… No, no, he isolated himself in his apartment for days until it passed, that's right. What about that time he got jumped in an alleyway and- Definitely not!

Tom cringed at the memory with a shudder running through his body. He still remembers their fear stricken faces and motionless bodies in front of him; torn members and ripped flesh all around him. Blood soaked his **hands.** Iron taste in his mouth and bile rising up his throat.

Tom clutched his eyes shut, shaking his head to get rid of the horrible memory haunting his mind. Not now. It's been a couple of days since he'd last had any alcohol, and even then he got drugged in the process. The alcohol withdraw was finally taking effect on him, and the memories he tried so hard to forget were coming back.

"Tom?"

Tord's voice snapped him back to reality. He looked down to see Tord, still patiently waiting for an answer. As much as he did try to remember, Tom could not recall the last time he'd seen a doctor; any doctor for that matter. Regardless, he tried to answer his best.

"Sorry, I blacked out a little there. Uh, to be honest, I don't remember." Tom says. "But if I had to guess the estimate date of my last appointment, maybe, uh, two years and a half ago?"

Tord frowned, narrowing his eye. "I see." He muttered, typing down his report. "Now, I believe it is your turn to ask."

Tom pondered his options. With this opportunity open up to him, he realized how many questions he had accumulated within the short time of his captivity. Especially in the aspects regarding Tord. What should he ask first? He thought maybe something a little simpler at first, then ask the real questions as they go on. The one question that kept popping into his mind constantly was the one he decided to go with, since it's been plaguing his mind since he arrived in the facility.

"The pub, the one where I was taken, both Paul and Patrick were there; with Patrick even working there. So it's safe to assume you own it." Tom deduced. "Did you build that pub just to lure me in?"

Tord laughed, so much so he had clutched his sides and bend over. Tom glared at Tord, flushing with embarrassment and feeling completely flustered. Was he too quick to assume?

"Oh, classic stupid Tom, you are such a riot!" Tord laughed, wiping a tear from his eye and regaining his composure. "I know you are a very important and essential part of my project, but do you think so highly of yourself to honestly assume that I would build and own a pub just to get to you?" Tord pointed his finger in Tom's direction, so close he flicked his nose mockingly.

Tom growled. "Then why do you own a pub for?" He asks irritably.

Tord grinned in return. "Why do you think? This facility isn't going to pay itself, and none of the equipment or weapons sprout from the ground." He explained.

Tom's sockets widened in surprise. "You? Paying for this?" He echoed. "Are you kidding me, Tord? You have no qualms in going on a murder spree, shooting down any civilians you see on your way; heck, you destroyed our house and nearly killed Matt, Edd and I with your stupid giant robot! Why don't you just steal the money and materials that you need?" He pointed out angrily.

"I do not have any qualms in stealing whatever my organization needs. But I do have qualms with police, and when they were getting too close for comfort I just had to find other means of supporting it all." Tord explained calmly. "I started out little at first, finding any jobs I could and take whatever money offered. Paul and Patrick helped. Eventually I got enough money to keep us afloat, and I created our own business to cover up all of our activities."

"Yeah, before the pub we used to have our own theme park; ASDF land!" Patrick spoke up from the other side of the room. "It was quite the business we had going, until the outbreak that is…"

"I worked so hard in making that roller coaster…" Paul mourned, with Patrick consoling him.

Tord shot them a look, clearing his throat. "I appreciate the impute, but try not to spoil the game you two." He scolded lightly. "It would be no fun otherwise." He grinned.

"Wait, you created ASDF land?" Tom exclaims in shock, even more questions raising in his mind. He distinctively remembers the park he and his friends spent the day in, until they realized the place was swarming with zombies. _Were they the cause of it?_

"Ah ah ah." Tord waved his robotic finger condescendingly. "You asked three questions already, now it's my turn. And to make things fair, I get to ask you three questions as well. Wouldn't want you getting greedy now."

Tom fumed, but remained silent; giving him permission to carry on.

"Does your family have any history with diseases?" Tord asks, reading it off from the tablet. "Diabetes, cancer, heart conditions; any of the sort?"

Tom just gave him a deadpanned look. "My mother was a bowling ball, and my father a pineapple. I don't think I'm running any risks with this." He replied, like the answer was obvious.

There was an awkward silence as Tord typed down the answer. Tom glanced over to Paul and Patrick, both of which were confused and astonished, as they tried to understand the logic behind him. Tom rolled his sockets. "Don't ask about it. It's a long story." He muttered.

The soldiers shrugged and went back to work.

"Have you had any broken limbs as of late?" Tord asks.

Tom thought for a moment. The only real time he remembers breaking anything in his body was when he tried to destroy Christmas with the use of Zanta's sled, which he had stolen, and was blown to smithereens by a missile. He ended up with most of his body broken that day. But nothing of the sort happened to him lately. After all, breaking bones and immediately having them fixed as his body re-shapes doesn't count, right? Right.

"Nope. Last I had it was six years ago." Tom answered simply. "Broke almost all of them; had to wear a body cast." No need to give him the full details of the situation.

"How often do you drink alcohol?" Tord questions, looking up from the tablet.

Tom stiffens. _Shit._ He is aware Tord knows he is an alcoholic, everyone knows he is one. But he started to drink a lot more after the first few incidents. He even switched actual food for Smirnoff just to keep it under control. He is already dreading the question Tord might be building up to, so how can he explain this without raising any red flags?

"Uh, one- no, at least three bottles a day for the past month." He said only half the truth.

Tord narrowed his eye at Tom, tapping his robotic fingers over the tablet in a rhythmic fashion. He sighed. "You know; you would make things a whole lot easier for all of us if you just say the truth to begin with." Tord murmured in disappointment.

"But I am telling the truth!" Tom insisted, throwing himself forward in his restraints as far as it would allow him. "Why would I lie about this anyway? It's not my fault you're too stupid to tell a lie apart from a truth." He became aggressive fast. A common trait when you are being defensive.

Tord shot him a glare, composing himself. "Fine." He placed down the tablet. "So, to answer your last question: yes, we were the owners of ASDF land. It used to be one of our bases. Above ground my soldiers worked as employers, entertaining the blissful ignorant masses, and earning money for our cause, while I worked on my project underground."

Tom heard him explain until he paused. He was waiting for him to carry on and give more information, but Tord took out the tablet again. Tom realized because he had lied, Tord wouldn't give him anymore answers until it was his turn to ask again. Tom hissed in frustration.

"Have you been suffering from back pains or aching joints?" Tord asks, not looking at him.

 _Yes!_ Tom almost blurt out but reframed from doing so. "Kind of. I mean, drinking and sitting on a couch for long periods of time does take its toll on my back. But no joint aches." He answered truthfully. "Now it's my turn, how many test subjects were there before me?"

Tord looks up, a mischievous smirk present on his facial features, making him look rather sinister. "Let's just say… there's a reason why you are called test subject #1826." He answered cryptically. "After getting enough resources to finally carry on with my work, I held my project in secret; right beneath the theme park. Of course, to test the serum out I would need test subjects, so I would abduct some of the park's visitors and try it on them." He proceeded to explain. "But unfortunately, the serum has drastic side effects when there's too much of the primary element. Not only does it burn the subject from the inside out, melting most of their organs in some cases, they die and come right back as zombies."

"We didn't dispose of the failed test subjects. Instead we placed them in a containment cell for further evaluation for future references." Patrick added, walking up to them with a rather large needle on his hand. Paul trailed after him. "But we didn't count on having so many failures; and so after many tries, the cells were too populated and there was an outbreak in the park. We had no choice but to evacuate the premises after our failed attempt in cleaning up the mess."

 _That would explain the zombies then._ Tom thought grimly, watching Patrick walk around him. He tried to crane his neck, look over his own shoulder and see what the soldier was going to do. Suddenly, the bottom part of his hoodie was lifted up and he felt the tip of something sharp poke his back.

Tom immediately started to struggle in panic, already expecting the worst. Patrick tapped his spine lightly with two fingers, searching for the right spot for the procedure. But with Tom moving around too much and disrupting his focus, Patrick frowned, reaching out his hand and grabbed the brit by the back of his neck to still his movements.

"Stop moving, please. You'll just make it hurt more otherwise." Patrick advised, putting the needle to position.

Tom started to hyperventilate in panic until his frantic thoughts were cut off by muffled giggling. His eyeless gaze landed on Tord, who was covering his mouth with his hand, trying to stifle his laughter while watching Tom struggle. He bared his teeth and growled down at the norsk. Tom took a deep breath, clenching and unclenching his fists as he calmed down and braced himself for the pain that was about to come. C _ome on Tom, you are stronger than this! You've been through worse! Don't let that commie bastard get to you now!_

Tom took a few more deep breaths, feeling completely calm now he nodded for Patrick to carry on. He raised an eyebrow in return, as if asking: "Are you sure about this?" Tom nodded again, bracing himself.

The pain was immediate. Tom clenched his fists, grabbing onto the chains of his restraints, trying to distract himself from the sharp pain spreading across his lower back, and raising up his spine. He bit the inside of his cheek, preventing from crying out and show Tord any sign of weakness. But the strange thing about it, is that it wasn't quite as bad as he thought it would be. He still fell immense pain, and it hurts like hell; but he had already endured so much over the months with the feral side that it barely compared.

Tord watched Tom with interest, one eyebrow raised. He barely moved or made any sound. Tom's face was clenched in pain, but that was his only indication he was feeling anything at all. Tord made sure to note this down for further evaluation.

Tom let out a sigh of relief when he felt Patrick pull away the needle from his spine. He shook his entire body to relieve the rest of the lingering pain. The faint sound of clapping brought his attention back; metal against wool. Tom looked at Tord to see the norsk clapping his hands with a smug expression on his face.

"Well, well, well; I must admit Tom, I had underestimated you." Tord says, still clapping slightly in a condescending way. "I was completely certain you would have started crying during the lumbar puncture, especially when you're doing it without any anaesthetic. But, once again you have proven me wrong."

Tom glowered at him. "Good thing I haven't lost my touch then."

Tord walked closer. "To keep me entertained?"

"To prove you wrong!" Tom snarled, shooting forward and being inches away from Tord. He did not flinch at the sudden proximity, as he is fully aware of the powerful restraints keeping the brit from coming any closer or doing him any harm.

Tord smirked. He grabbed Tom's chin with his metallic hand, bringing him down to his eye level. Tom scowled in response. "Is your pain tolerance direct consequence of the serum currently running through your veins?" Tord questions. "Or, is there something deeper going on?"

Tom glared at Tord, not breaking away eye contact. He didn't want to say it. Not to Tord. Not anyone. But if he doesn't, he won't get answers. At this point, Tom could care less about the answers now. He could probably have an easier time convincing Paul or Patrick to tell him things rather than play games with the communist prick.

"No." Came his simple reply, tearing his head away from Tord's grip and slumping back against the restraints. "And even if there was, I sure as hell wouldn't tell you." He huffed.

Tord let him go with a frown. He sighed, crossing both his arms behind his back and turning away from Tom. "Fine, I can see that you have grown tired of our little game." He murmured, voice dripping in disappointment. "I will leave the remaining questions for our next round."

"And what makes you so sure there will be another round of questions?" Tom asks indignantly, failing to notice the presence creeping up behind him.

Tord looked back at him over his shoulder, a smirk spreading on his face. "Oh Tom, I know for a fact that you will ask again, because you still haven't asked the right questions!"

Tom was taken back by surprise. He wasn't expecting that kind of answer. He was just about to demand what he meant when he felt a sharp pain hit between his shoulder-blades. It was quick, and felt much like a stapler but the pain still registered. Tom wasn't expecting that and gave a yelp.

"Ow! What the-?!"

Tom twisted his head around and saw Paul, standing behind him and looking up to him with an apologetic expression, holding a syringe in his hand. Tom glared at the soldier. "Is this how you expect me to forgive you?" He exclaims angrily.

"Well, you are certainly doing a dang good job in proving me wrong." Tord speaks up jokingly. "And here i thought you grew immune to pain."

 _It's easier when you have alcohol._ Tom thought grimly. "What did you do anyway?" He demanded.

"Paul just implanted a chip into your spine, granting us access to your vitals for better management and check-ups to your current physical state. So if there are any sudden changes to your condition during the procedures, we'll know right away." Tord explains. "The chip also serves as a tracking device, so if you ever attempt to leave or go into any unauthorized areas, we could be alerted. As well as some rather… interesting features."

Tom turned away from Paul, switching his eyeless, dark gaze back to the Norwegian leader. Patrick walked up to Tord and handed him a couple of files, dipping his head slightly in return. Tord thanked him and returned his attention back to Tom.

"Well, I guess that is all for today. I have other business to attend to, so I'll let Pat and Paul escort you to your quarters now." Tord waved, shooting Tom a sly grin, earning an infuriated scowl from the brit in return. "See ya tomorrow, old friend!" He called, walking out of the room.

Paul and Patrick tried to approach Tom and free him from his restraints, but Tom just trashed around in them. "Wait! What did you mean by asking you the right questions?" Tom demanded.

Tord nearly reached the doorway when he stopped walking and turned back around to face him. A smug look on his face. "I'm sure you'll figure it out eventually." He reassured. "Much like I'll do to find out what you are hiding from me." He promised wickedly, raising his robotic hand to just below his chin. "Time to use one of those features!"

Before Tom could get another word out, Tord pressed one of the buttons on his arm and a jolt of electricity shot through him. The shockwaves coursed through his entire body, feeling immense agony, convulsing with pain. Tom tried to hold in any sounds he might emit, stubbornness making him refuse to show any weaknesses. But the move itself was just so unexpected that he accidentally let out a few agonized screams.

Paul and Patrick watched Tom get electrocuted right in front of them in mixed expressions of horror and sympathy. But essentially, they knew it was needed for their plans. Tord just watched silently in morbid fascination. Something about watching the eyeless man howl in pain as he struggled against the chains holding him up was fascinating. But yet, at the same time, Tord felt… bad for him? Something in his agonized screams in particularly caused that feeling on him, but Tord couldn't quite explain why.

He snapped out of his thoughts when his robotic arm started beeping, alerting him that Tom had fallen unconscious. He pressed the same button again and the electric zaps stopped. Tom has his head and arms hanging down by the restraints, and was completely motionless. Tord frowned at his immobile form. _Now that Patrick mentioned it, Tom really does look thin and weak. Is he not eating properly?_ Tord exhales in contemplation. _I guess i'll just have to fix that up too._

"Escort him to his room and make sure he stays there!" Tord orders as he turns around and leaves.

"Yes sir!"

**(Meanwhile.)**

Rain poured outside and stained the windows. Inside his little apartment, Edd paced around his living room in worry. His footsteps echoed throughout the space as he walked around the couch from one side of the room to the other. He bit his lip and chewed on his fingernails, occasionally checking his cell phone before shoving it back into his pocket.

A knock sounded on his door. Edd jumped and hurried over to open it, feeling hope fill up inside his chest, but immediately felt disappointment when he realized it was only Matt on the other side of the door. He was soaking wet with his hoodie raised and carrying grocery bags on both hands. Edd stepped aside to let him in.

"Did you find him?" Edd asks worriedly.

Matt shook his head. "There's no sign of him anywhere." He murmured sadly.

Edd groaned, sighing exasperatedly. He ran a hand through his hair and went back to pacing, taking out his phone once again. Matt watched him, placing the groceries on the counter desk before turning back to Edd.

"Where could he have gone to?" Edd wondered. "It's been three days, Matt! He should've come back by now!"

Matt fiddled with his fingers, not exactly sure what to do. He wanted to comfort and reassure Edd, but he was worried for Tom too. It's unlike him to be gone for so long. Usually he would just go to the nearest bar, get drunk and return, at the very least, on the following night.

Matt was snapped out of his thoughts by a loud bang as Edd punched the wall in frustration. He rubbed his injured hand, hissing at the pain. His gaze cast downwards, and his bangs covered his eyes. "It's my fault, I shouldn't have pushed Tom over the edge." He lamented. "I thought, maybe, that if I pestered him enough he would finally open up to us. But instead I just pushed him further away."

Matt frowned, reaching into the plastic bag and taking out a cola can. He smiled a little, trying to appear more reassuring. "C'mon old chap, don't be like that." He called, walking up to the green hooded man and offering him his favourite drink. "Tom is… well, kind of mysterious in his own right and keeps a lot of things to himself, but maybe he has his reasons to." He argued.

Edd looked up at him through his bangs with sad eyes. "But, we're his friends." He pointed out. "Whatever it is he's going through; he should tell us. I know that I will always count on you and Tom to help out with my problems, so why can't he do the same?"

Matt shuffled around on his feet, adjusting his position. "You know Tom; he is more introvert and closed off. It is unlike him to admit things so easily, especially if it concerns his emotions." He pointed out, putting his arm around Edd's shoulder, still offering the can out to him.

Edd gingerly took the can from him, still a little hesitant to open it. "But what if he never comes back? What if this time I pushed him away for real? Or worse, what if he turns out like Tord did?" He murmurs worriedly. "He did say not to expect him back so soon…"

"Look, people tend to exaggerate things when they're angry. He'll come back!" Matt reassured him. "He just needs some time for himself, think things over, and reflect for a bit. I'm sure once he realizes his mistake he'll come back."

Edd started smiling a little now. "You really think so?"

"Of course!" Matt grinned as Edd cracked open his can and took a sip. "In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if Tom showed up at the doorstep right about now."

The doorbell rang.

Edd choked on his drink and nearly dropped the can if it weren't for Matt holding him. They looked at each other in astonishment, then at the door, then right back at each other. Edd's eyes were wide, and his mouth opened and closed without any sound. _Could it be?_ Edd asks silently, and as if he could read his thoughts, Matt nodded. Suddenly, a rather large grin made its way onto Edd's face and he rushed off towards the door; not caring if he spilled his favourite beverage along the way.

Matt breathed a sigh of relief, running after his friend in excitement. Things were finally going to get better form here.

When Edd made it to the doorknob, he gripped it tightly in his hand, twisted, and swung it open without any hesitation.

"TOM-!"

However, his ecstatic expression faded almost instantly once he realized it was not his friend who stood at his doorstep. Instead, two police officers towered over him. One was leaning against the railings of the stairs with his hat covering most of his face, arms crossed over his chest, blonde tufts of hair could be seen poking out from beneath his cap, and a lit cigarette poked out of his mouth. The one who presumably ringed the door bell was a tall man with ginger hair, one-o-clock shadow, blue eyes, sideburns, and pale white skin. As soon as Edd opened the door, the man straightened his position, removing the cap from atop his head.

"Mr. Edd Gold?" The Officer asks.

Edd looked at each of them nervously, taking a step back inside and closing the door a little. "Um, y-yeah, that's me." He answered hesitantly.

The officer dipped his head a little. "I'm officer Bennet, and this-" He introduced, then turned back and motioned for the other cop standing behind him. He gave a little wave of acknowledgement in return. "Is my partner, Lenny. I'm afraid we've come to give some bad news for you, sir."

"Edd? What's going on?" Matt asks, coming up behind Edd and taking notice of the two stranger at the doorstep. When he saw their uniforms and badges, he realized then that they were police. He gulped, afraid as to what this might lead to.

Officer Bennet narrowed his eyes at Matt. "Is he your relative?" He questions.

Edd looks back at Matt nervously. "No, he's just a, uh, friend…" He stammered. Getting a sudden burst of courage, Edd closed the door a little more and proceeded to glare at the officer. "Look, we're kind of busy right now, so if can just say what it is already-"

"It's about Mr. Thompson, sir."

At his words, Edd shut up immediately and opened up the door fully now. His eyes were wide and held many expressions; notably worry and hope.

"You found him?" Edd asks taking a few steps forward. "How is him? Is he okay? Where did you find him? We were worried sick! Can I see him?" He kept blurting out questions.

Officer Bennet looked uncomfortable, fiddling with his cap and avoiding eye contact. "Mr. Gold, I'm sorry. It is with great displeasure that I must inform you that, Mr. Thompson is dead."

Time seemed to slow down for Edd. His heart stopped only to give a mighty leap and beat against his ribcage. Oxygen escaped his lungs and for a moment he felt like he couldn't breathe. His hands were shaky and he let go of the cola can, still on his hand, spilling it all over the floor. His eyes remained fixed on the officer in front of him and he took a hesitant step back. He barely heard Matt gasp beside him, or feel his hand touch his shoulder. He felt as if he was fading in and out of existence; he wasn't feeling the moment, but feeling too much at once to be something concrete.

"H-how?" Edd managed to ask rather shakily. Breath wavering, his throat dry, and already feeling tears clog his vision.

"We found Mr. Thompson's body in a ditch earlier this morning." Bennet reported. "He had several bullet wounds and deep lacerations to the skin. Autopsy still hasn't confirmed if he had died instantly or struggled with blood loss."

Matt placed both hands to his mouth to muffle his gasp of horror. "H-he was… Murdered?"

Bennet nodded solemnly. "I'm afraid so." He confirmed. "Though, we still haven't found any clues that could lead us to the perpetrator."

Not bearing to hear any more of this, Edd turned around, shoving Matt out of the way and bolted back inside.

"Edd-!"

Ignoring Matt's cry, Edd continued to run. His world was spinning out of control, all noise was drowned out with blood rushing to his ears and his hammering heart. Tears already welled up in his eyes, trailing behind him as they fell. Despite not being anyone else in his apartment, Edd felt the urge to cover his eyes with his sleeve.

He made it to his room and slammed the door shut, locking it behind him. Edd rested his back against the door, breathing heavily and trying to regulate it back to normal; arm still over his eyes. He let the officer's words finally sink in and the reality of the situation took its toll on him.

He lowered his arm, tears welling up until he couldn't contain them anymore and they streamed down his face. Edd allowed himself to cry. He covered his face with both hands and sobbed as he slowly leaned down, slumping against the door frame until he was on the ground hugging his knees. Many thoughts were running through his mind at that moment, but only one kept repeating itself and coming back constantly.

"I'm sorry, Tom. I'm so sorry!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Sips on a glass of tears*
> 
> Mmmm… Delicious!
> 
> Things are just going to get worse from here on out. Because of brainstorming, this story is going to be longer than I had originally planned, and now there's going to be a subplot with Edd and Matt; they're not going to be in it a whole lot, this story is about Tom and Tord after all, but just to have something to cut back to when things get… hmm… interesting. There will be more answers next time, i promise.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tord goes to feed Tom, and they have a little chat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To clear up some confusion, the reason i write Patrick instead of Patryk is out of respect for the real life counterpart after he left the show. I don't want to disrespect him, so i write the character's name differently from his own since he doesn't want anything to do with the show, and especially the ship. Thank you guys so much for the support, and i'll see ya all later! ;)

"Are you out of your mind?!"

Tord was leaned back in his recliner chair, feet propped up over his desk and gaze fixed on the ceiling fan of his office. His lips were pursed with both arms crossed behind his head in boredom as he suffered through one of Patrick's lectures. This time, the Polish soldier was pacing around the room and ranting on and on about his treatment in regards to Tom, all the while Paul watched the argument in the far corner of the room; fiddling with his fingers, gaze cast downwards and completely silent as if he was afraid to speak up. This might take a while.

"I can't believe you've done this! After I pulled you out of the room to talk privately, specifically told you about my concerns regarding his weight loss and to take it easier on him; you just went ahead and electrocuted him!" Patrick exclaims angrily, still pacing from one side of the room to the other.

Tord shrugged. "Oh stop exaggerating, Pat!" He sighed exasperatedly. "It was just a controlled shock; the voltage isn't even that high. He was clearly struggling against the two of you so I thought it would've been much easier if he were unconscious. No need to get your panties in a twist. Geez!"

"I don't care what you thought, because you clearly didn't!" Patrick snapped. "Tom is incredibly underweight for someone his size and age, this leaves him very frail and extremely weak. If we are not careful, we could accidentally kill him without even going through any of the procedures." He warned.

Tord blinked at him deadpanned, sitting straight in his chair. "Alright Pat, you got a point. I will go easier on him from now on." He sighed. "But if he steps out of line, I will discipline him if necessary." He warned, turning his chair to look at the mirror on his left, immediately running his robotic hand through his hair and fixing his fringe.

"For our sake Tord, I do hope so. Tom might be our last shot of success in perfecting the serum. If we lose him, the project you worked so hard on will be no more." Patrick states angrily. "I recommend we give him a special diet before the procedures, enough for him to gain back the lost weight and build up his strength to resist blood loss." He advised.

"Very well, you go on and do that. For now, we'll leave the serious experiments for when Tom has a full recovery." Tord says, still looking at his reflexion.

"I'm afraid my hands are full on this matter, sir." The soldier grumbles, causing Tord to glance at him through the reflection.

"Hmm?"

"With all due respect sir, you already put me in charge of taking care of his mental health. I am no psychologist, so I have to read everything and anything on the matter to accomplish this." He elaborated. "You, on the other hand, put yourself in charge of his overall health. If anyone should plan his diet it should be you."

Tord glared at him clenching his fists but sighed in defeat as he realized the soldier's words did have truth in them. "Fine, I will take care of his diet. You can go on with your lessons, just don't forget to check the test results for his blood and spinal tap." He murmured. "Paul, you and I will take test subject #1826 for some light physical activity tomorrow, so I suggest you come up with something for then."

"Yes, sir!" Paul saluted.

"Dismissed." Tord ordered, his back still turned to them but watched them leave his office through the mirror.

Once they left and Tord was finally alone, he dropped the authority posture and allowed himself to relax.  _What a busy day._  He thought tiredly, walking to his chair and leaning back as far as it would go, stretching his limbs.

He opened his computer with a frown, typing in the password and gaining access to all of the base's personal files and reports. But he was not interested in any of that at the moment. He was currently more preoccupied in finding ways of recovering Tom back to his proper health.

_I don't understand. How could he have gotten to this condition? He's barely just skin and bones, there is literally nothing in him._  Tord thought worriedly, researching different sources and pages for the absolute best.  _Did he do this to himself? If so, why? I need to keep a close eye on his condition…_

Tord's thoughts drifted into various directions and possibilities. For now, he will give Tom the benefit of the doubt that he just has a terrible sense of self-care, and hopefully, nothing deeper was going. But then again, he's dealing with Tom. There is always a catch.

_He is hiding something, and if Tom won't admit it, then I will figure him out myself._  He vowed silently.

**(Later…)**

_Blurry images were flying through his mind, but they were so fuzzy he could barely make them out. Blood rushed through his ears, drowning out the noise; his heart hammering in his chest._  Stop.

_He could faintly see a few places that looked familiar to the depths of his mind. A park, an alleyway, the bar… a yellow house._  Stop it.

_Next thing he hears are screams; shrills of panic and horror all around him. He tries to understand what was going on but all he sees as his vision clears are people running away from something. He looks behind him but there was nothing there. He realizes then that these people were running away from him._  Stop it!

_He tries to plead for the people to stop, try and make them understand, but they just kept staring at him in horror. He clutched his head in distress._  P-please no!

_He hissed in pain when he felt something sharp poke his head. He was confused by this and slowly drew his hands down, only to discover that in place of his hands, he had sharp blood-stained claws instead._  NO!

_He thrashed and turned violently as he saw people get mutilated left and right. His claws seemed to have a mind of their own as they slashed through them mercilessly._  I don't want this!

_Blood and guts spilled everywhere. He felt immense pain coming from his jaws as his gums expanded and sharp teeth started to grow out of his normal ones. Something heavy swished behind him. A tail. His tail. He pounced on a frightened woman and tore her face off with his jaws, mauling her limb to limb._  Make it stop!

_But he couldn't stop it. He would never stop until the pain in his stomach finally ceased and his hunger for flesh is satisfied. His appetite has been neglected for far too long. A loud roar escaped his lips once his eye surveyed the bloodstained fields; no signs of life. Until he heard a gasp from behind him._  No! No! No!

_He turned around, slowly and rather clumsily due to his large size. Standing behind him with expressions of shock and horror were two familiar figures of a ginger and a brunet in hoodies. Something clicked in his mind at the recognition, but his stomach growled louder at the sight of them._  Not them!

_He crouched low on the ground, a growl rumbling through him as his eye narrowed at them. His huge claws raked the ground in anticipation. His mouth watered._

**PREY.**

NO! DON'T-!

**KILL.**

_He pounced on them, claws raised and ready for mutilating as the two forms cowered away in fear. Next thing he knows; blood is soaking his form. His friend's blood._

"NO!" Tom shot up straight, sitting up in alarm. His eyes were wide and he started to pant for breath, trying to calm down from the adrenaline as he trembled in fright. He looked around frantic but was relieved to find everything he had experienced, for the most part, was merely a dream.

Tom breathed a sigh of relief, taking deep breaths to calm his rapid heartbeat. He laid back down staring at the ceiling. _It was just a dream. Edd and Matt are fine. You did not hurt them, they are safe and sound back at home. The monster will never hurt them now._

As he gained back his bearings, Tom noticed the somewhat soft surface he was laying on top of. On closer observation he realized he was indeed lying on a bed. He looked around the place he was in. The room was plain gray with no windows or anything else really. Just the bed.

Last (night's?) events slowly but surely reappeared into his memory and he remembered how Tord played a stupid game with him before knocking him out via electric shocks. Tom huffed in annoyance.  _Dam commie. Didn't even have the guts to knock me out himself, he had to do it from a safe distance._

Tom noticed two doors, one positioned to his left; large and made out of steel, and the other in front of him at the far end of the bed. One must lead outside while the other was possibly a bathroom. Again, possibly… This is Tord he is dealing with after all.

Tom sat up again, his legs dangling to the side of the bed. He tried to get up when he felt a pull towards his wrist and a slight pain followed. Tom looked down and saw a thin, transparent line coming out of his sleeve. He pulled it up, the line going inside his veins. Tom followed the line, his eyes directing towards the rather large IV bag on a pole, connected to the lines.

"An IV?" Tom stared down at his wrist in confusion.  _They must've put that in while I was unconscious… right on my injured wrist too._

Tom didn't have much time to pull it off before the door to his cell slid open. Tom jumped in surprise, letting out a little yelp until he realized who was on the other side. The familiar silhouette of pointy hair was enough to tell who it was before Tord strolled into the room, a wide grin on his face and carrying a tray of, supposedly food with him.

"Good morning!" Tord greeted in a sing-song voice. Tom stared at him deadpanned, not saying anything just raising one eyebrow questioningly. "Hope you had a good night's rest, cause' today we have a lot to do."

Tom glared. Tord is never cheerful unless there is pain involved.  _Great._  The Brit remained silent, crossing his arms and glaring at the other man. Tord's smile wavered at his behaviour.

"Ah, the silent treatment I see. Don't tell me you are still upset for me electrocuting you yesterday?" Tord says, earning a harder glare from Tom causing him to chuckle at their situation. "Really? Come on old pal, as if you were expecting anything different from me at this point!" Tord laughed, but slowly diminished as Tom remained silent and fuming. "Oh. So you are serious about this." Tord blinked in realization that maybe making fun of his only hope to get the serum done, especially when he is in such a condition, wasn't the best idea.

Tord sighed, clearing his throat. "Fine. Maybe I exaggerated and I shouldn't have been so quick to electrocute you." He apologized while avoiding uttering the specific words to his supposedly arch-nemesis. Patrick's words echoed in his mind. "As long as you don't try anything funny, I won't do it again. I promise."

Knowing this is the closest he will ever get to an apology coming from Tord, Tom dropped his arms with his glare turning to the tray of food the Norwegian was still holding in his hands.

"Anyways, I brought you breakfast." Tord simply says handing him the tray. "And please try not to take out the IV without proper assistance. I had it put in to help restore you back to health and I would hate it if you were to be stubborn about it."

Tom took the tray from him, setting it down on his lap. The food given was as simple as it could be: Just a bowl of bread chunks, a small dish of butter with a plastic knife, and a glass of water. Talk about generic prison food. But the food itself didn't really matter. Even if he were presented with a cheeseburger or a large, juicy steak he still wouldn't eat it. He can't risk getting strong again.

"I'm not hungry." Tom muttered, looking away while ignoring the pain in his stomach grow at the sight of food.

Much to his surprise, Tord laughed in response, looking down at him with amusement. "Patrick warned me you would use the same excuse twice, didn't think you actually would though." He stated. "To my knowledge, you haven't consumed anything in the last 54 hours. No normal human being can go on so long without any nourishment."

Tom inwardly grimaced.  _Dam, he is on to me._  He glared up at Tord. "I don't have eyes, my parents are inanimate objects, and I currently have a super-potent serum running through my veins. I am by no means normal." He growled.

Tord shrugged. "True. But you are still human despite all of that, and you need to eat sometime." He says, nudging the tray.

Tom raised an eyebrow. "So what happened to the quality meal I was promised when taking your stupid deal?" He challenged, remembering the night Tord had come to him to hear his answer and told him of the things he would expect to get if he accepted his proposition. "If this is what you have for a quality meal, then I really don't wanna know what you have for your average one." He held a chunk of bread between his fingers, holding it up to his eye he inspected it.

Tord frowned. "I'll have you known that this is some of the finest bread that we have." He stated, somewhat offended by Tom's comment, as he held a lot of pride for his army. "And concerning the conditions of our deal, a change was in order." At this Tom put the chunk of bread down, looking at Tord curiously. The norsk sighed. "Due to your alarming condition I had to research and plan your diet carefully. So from now on, instead of two quality meals a day, you'll get plenty of small snacks once every two hours: Bread, protein bars, soups. Small but nutritious, and easy to consume."

Tom narrowed his eyes as his blank stare met with Tord's own gray one. He may know about his malnourished state, but he barely scratched the surface of Tom's condition; he has no idea what he is dealing with, and Tom plans to keep it that way for as long as he can. So until Tord addresses the issue directly, he will just play along.

Once again, Tord nudged the tray of food closer to Tom. "Well, go on and eat up then. When you are done, I'll escort you to the gym where Paul will be waiting for us." He ordered.

Tom looked down at the food in disdain. His stomach was growling but he went for so long without eating anything that he kind of lost his appetite due to his self-control. The chunks of bread didn't look particularly appetizing either.

Tord frowned, sensing Tom's hesitance to eat and figured he wouldn't do it on his own initiative. He sighed. "You know, there are still lots of questions you haven't ask me yet." He said, gaining the Brit's attention. "Tell you what: You may ask me any questions you want; I promise to answer them all truthfully. But for each question you ask me you will eat one chunk of bread in return."

Tom rolled his empty eyes, groaning in annoyance. Leave it to Tord to solve all his problems with a deal or a game. He has been for approximately three days in this stupid base and already he couldn't stand Tord or his methods. He vaguely remembers the Norwegian's ominous words from their last game.  _The right question?_  He thought.  _I do want answers, and I don't know when I'll get another chance to talk with Patrick or Paul on my own; or if they will even answer me then._  Tom looks down at the bowl of bread on his tray, slowly lifting his gaze back to Tord; standing in the middle of the room with his hands folded behind his back.

Tom didn't want to give in just yet, his stubborn side rising within him. "And what if I refuse?" He challenged, crossing his arms and folding his legs; careful not to let the tray fall from his lap.

Tord frowned at him. "If you don't eat, then I guess I will just have to make you." He spoke, icily calm. "And believe me Thomas, I have many ways to make you do whatever I want. I am just being nice and giving you the chance to choose to do it the easy way or the hard way." Tom wasn't fooled by his calm demeanour. Tord was practically radiating anger, he just kept it in check. Tom scowled but sighed in defeat, knowing better than to argue further at this point. "So what's it gonna be?"

Tom stared at the ground, adverting his gaze. "Fine. I'll take your offer." He muttered.

Tord smiled, regaining his posture.  _Good, he is learning._  He thought, pleased with the result.  _Maybe one day he won't resist me anymore and just do as I say without protest. Hopefully._

"You may begin whenever you are ready." Tord declared, straightening his back and clasping his hands together.

Tom narrowed his eyes, remembering his previous questions and the information he learned in response. He scratched his chin and hummed.

"Alright, uhm, I assume we are currently in your army base or something…"

"One of many." Tord put in. "This one is actually my main base, and the largest of all of them. Do keep going."

Tom raised one eyebrow.  _Geez. How many bases does he have in total? And why so many?_  He thought of asking, but he shook his head.  _Focus. One question at a time! I can't eat too much so I have to think carefully about my questions._

"Well, if this is your main base, then how come I barely see anyone around here?" Tom asks. "I mean; I saw a few people wandering through the halls when Patrick first escorted me. But how come I only seem to interact with the three of you and no one else?"

Tord grinned, moving to lean on the wall next to him while crossing his arms. "The serum project is a highly confidential plan only accessible to higher ups and with my permission. It is a very delicate procedure that I would very much like to keep it hidden from any form of unwanted attention." He explained, an edge to his voice. "So, to prevent unqualified assistance or possible traitors to get close to my last shot in this project, I made it perfectly clear to my soldiers to stay away from the lower area, which is the entire floor you reside in and we perform our experiments. Any members of the red army found wandering about the halls of this floor without direct permission from me will be-"

"Killed?!"

"Punished." Tord finished, his grin turning into a sour frown. "I may be trigger happy, Tom, but I wouldn't kill my own soldiers for a little bit of rule breaking." He paused, contemplating his thoughts. "Well… Unless they annoy or piss me off, and break the rules far too often; in which case they lose their value and become easily dispensable. And this project is a very serious issue, so now I am not quite sure what I'll do if someone were to come down here and find out…"

Tom felt an involuntarily shiver run down his spine at the sound of that. He began to wonder what kind of punishment Tord delivers to those who break the rules. Knowing how sadistic the Norwegian man could be, Tom wouldn't be surprised if it involved medieval torture methods; or at the very least some finger chopping or back whipping. And how exactly would he dispose of the "dispensable" soldiers? Tord's favourite method of killing has always been guns, but again, he is a sadistic f#ck; he most likely wouldn't settle for just a simple shot in the head. Tom's gaze drifted down to Tord's synthetic hand, currently rubbing his chin in thought. Another shiver ran down his spine. Something told him that cold, metallic hand held a lot of deaths in its grasp. And he suspected it wasn't only by choking either.

"Regardless, you will only interact with Paul, Pat, and I throughout the whole experience and no one else." Tord declared, brushing off his previous thought.

Tom snapped out of his thoughts. "So your soldiers-"

"Ahem." Tom was abruptly interrupted by Tord's obnoxious throat clearing. The Norsk was looking down at him expectantly, but Tom just stared back in confusion. "Eat." He ordered, motioning to the tray.

Tom looked down, realizing what he was expected to do. He inwardly grimaced, not feeling up to eating anything at the moment, or ever for that fact. But if he didn't, Tord would force him to do it regardless, and he doesn't need the humiliation of having the commie force-feeding him against his will. It's just best to comply.

Tom surveyed the contents of the bowl, careful to pick the smallest chunk possible. He raised it to his eye level to inspect it. The bread is brown and white with grains in it, soft to the touch and yet held a certain hardiness to it near the border. Gingerly, he stuck his tongue out to give the bread an experimental taste. Tom clicked his tongue. _Tastes like bread alright._

Tord watched him in amusement and slight annoyance, doing his best to keep from giggling out loud. He debated whether he should just tell him that the bread held no drugs or poison in it, but held back. Tord decided he found Tom quite adorable when he was suspicious and wary of things.

Tom stared down at the piece of bread for a moment longer before popping it into his mouth. He chewed slowly, and rather hesitantly as he rolled the bread around his mouth with his tongue. It crunched beneath his teeth, the grains making themselves apparent. The taste was rather bland. But to Tom, who hadn't eaten anything for so long he barely remembers the last time he did, the bread tasted divine in his mouth.

Still, he did not let it show he enjoyed. "Not bad." He mumbled while still chewing.

When the chunk was gone from his mouth and descended down his throat, Tom still felt the bread taste on his tongue. He held the urge to lick his lips. His eyes unintentionally fixed back on the bowl, and his hand was ready to take another chunk but he quickly reframed from doing so. His hand twitched and he clenched into a fist in response.  _Stay under control._  He reminded himself.

Although subtle, Tord took notice of the hand twitch. Looking at Tom's facial expression he could detect a hint of hesitation, as if he was struggling with himself. Tord raised an eyebrow in interest.  _Hm, seems as if he's having some trouble in containing himself. Not sure if this is his stubborn side refusing to actually enjoy something I am giving him, or something else entirely…_  He contemplated, rubbing his chin.  _I'll order Pat to have a session with him tomorrow; today if possible, and see what he can figure out._

Tom managed to repress down the urge to eat more, for now, until he could ask more questions. "So how did you get your army?" He blurts out. "Did you actually get followers or did you blackmail them into joining you?"

Tord just shot him a sly grin. "I earned my soldier's respect fair and square. They approved of my way of thinking and agreed to join the cause. My cause." He declared with pride, placing the palm of his robotic hand over his heart. "Of course, I started only with a handful of soldiers; Paul included. But overtime we recruited more members to join us, and that's when Pat came in. I never had any use to blackmail anyone."

_Except for me, you dumb bastard._  Tom silently added, scowling. "But how did you manage to recruit more members without being tracked or found out by the authorities?" He questions. "Like, with you being wanted and all I guess it's safe to say you didn't just go out in the open to demand more members or anything. So you probably had a strategy for this sort of thing." He pointed out, recalling the time he was walking down the street with the keys of his newly-bought apartment twirling on his finger when he found the wanted poster.

No matter how much time seemed to pass since that incident, his mind somehow always drifted to the catastrophic events of that day. Sometimes he wondered what would've happened if he had never found that poster. Would Tord have turned his rage on Edd and Matt instead? Or would he have left peacefully?

Tord's grin widened. "Very clever Tom, maybe you aren't as stupid as I thought you were." He purred in delight, motioning with his hand to the bowl once more. Tom got the memo right away and took a small chunk of bread; eating while he listened to his answer.

"Yes, I had to work around the issue with the authorities in order to expand my numbers. So we were very careful when selecting our members; only choosing those who held special skills and stood out among the rest." Tord explained. "But overtime as our organisation grew we became more open to members, but still careful in our selection to make sure we don't get any spies or undercover cops. So now we have a new system of selection."

"Which is?" Tom questioned, glancing sideways and taking note of the small tray of butter to accompany his meal. He gingerly grabbed the plastic knife and proceeded to swipe it over one piece of bread.

Tord smirked. "Our pub of course! It turned out to have more use for the army aside of just financing our organisation." He exclaimed. "We keep an eye out for frequent clients; the ones who seem miserable and have a reason to come so often. One soldier goes to them undercover, gain their trust, gets info on them, and we offer them a place in the group. If they refuse, we erase their memories from the event; but most cases they are willing to abandon their lives for this new style."

Tom swallowed another chunk of bread, rolling down his throat with great difficulty. It's been a while since he last did this. He grabbed the glass of water and took a sip, still paying attention to the details.

"But it's not just the pub that we use. All soldiers are equipped with fake names and identities so that they may interact with the outside world whenever they want. If they were to stumble upon a person of interest that fits in with our requirements, they are offered a place as well." Tord went on, seemingly not minding in giving away even the most secretive of details regarding his army. He held a lot of pride for his hard work and wasn't afraid of showing it. "Most of the people who take our offer like to delete their previous lives, either by hacking the systems or just simply faking their own deaths; taking entirely new identities as their own and committing themselves fully to the army."

Tom looked up at him. "So your soldiers are basically dead to the world." He concluded grimly.

As much as he disliked Tord and everything he stands for, including the whole army thing, he can't really blame the people for joining him. They must've had their reasons for abandoning their lives. Sure, there could be the occasional communist prick like the leader himself, but what of those people that were in a similar predicament as him? Depressed and lost. Maybe they were in the brink of death before a second chance showed up to them. Tord and the army could be bad but maybe it was the only chance these people had of living.

Tom shook the thought off his head, repressing it down. No person associated with the army deserve his sympathy no matter what their reason was. Himself included.

"Does that mean they all live in the base? Or bases, considering you seem to have more than one." Tom mumbled, taking another sip of water.

"Most of them, yes. But there are those who still hold on to their everyday lives. Think of them as the ones who have a foot in each world. The blissful ignorant world of today's society, and that of the red army's." Tord continued. "They work mostly as spies; feeding us any and all intel they may acquire during their outings, then sneak back to the base and report everything. Most of these types of soldiers have a lot of use to us with their positions: Doctors, bankers, and especially cops."

Tom nearly choked on his drink, but managed to place the glass down and swallow the liquid before it could take effect in his lungs. Tord had a lot more power than he initially imagined if he had undercover soldiers working in important positions. Even if by some miracle he were able to escape, Tom would never be able to go out again; else he will get easily tracked down and just brought back. Heck, after learning this tad bit of information can he trust anyone else ever again? After his experience with the pub, definitely not.

"Are all of your soldiers just that? Soldiers? Or are there different positions?" Tom asks, calming down before glaring daggers at the norsk. "And what about children? Do you take them in as well? I bet you brainwash them in following your messed up ways you sick, communist, bastard-"

Tord pursed his lips, narrowing his eye as he raised one finger to silence him. "Despite what you might think of me, Thomas, I do not take in children. Never had, never will. Only individuals above the age of eighteen are allowed to join. Sure there are some smartasses who think they can fool us into believing they are above the age, just because they think being in an army sounds cool. But our system never failed to detect them, and we erase their memories from the event. But we do keep a tracker on them for future reference." He explained, standing up from his spot against the wall; walking closer to Tom. "And yes, we do have other positions in the army: Doctors, nurses, scientists, engineers, cooks, cleaners, etc. Not all of the people we take in share the same enjoyment as me in going on a killing spree. Anything that can benefit the army in any way possible."

Tom followed his movements as Tord got closer to him. He was baring his teeth into a scowl and his eyeless gaze set into a glare. Tord stopped, towering directly over him.

"I believe those were four questions, so… Eat up!" Tord pointed out.

Tom growled. "I don't feel like eating anymore." In a sudden burst of defiance, he shoved the tray of food off his lap; splattering the remains on the floor. His gaze not once leaving Tord's.

On the other hand, Tord was fuming silently, anger boiling up inside of him ready to burst. He felt the urge to hold Tom in a choke hold in order to teach him a lesson for his defiance. His hands clenched, ready to lash out when Patrick's words echoed in his mind, reminding him of his predicament. Tom is his only and last shot, as much as he hates to admit it. And he can't be too rough on him or he will get damaged in his current state.

With this in mind, Tord takes a deep breath to calm down. He smiles down at Tom, taking him by genuine surprise.

"Tsk tsk, oh Tom, always making a mess of things." Tord cooed, shaking his head.

He extended his robotic hand out towards Tom, making him flinch and try to lean back; but at the same time, he didn't want to show signs of weakness and urged to stand his ground. Tord leaned closer, his hand just inches away from his face. Tom kept his gaze fixed on the Norwegian's single gray eye, completely still.

When they come in contact with each other, Tom grit his teeth and grumbled in irritation. The robotic hand ran through his hair and ruffled him. He hated the touch, it felt like Tord was possessive of him somehow. But strangely enough, it felt affectionate as well. Tom almost leaned into the touch if it weren't for the fact he kept reminding himself as to whom exactly it was ruffling him in the first place.

Tord grinned. "Well, I am glad you took such an interest in my line of work. I hope the information I provided you with was enough to change your mind about a few things." He murmured, still running his robotic fingers gently through Tom's messy brown locks. "Overtime, who knows? You might actually start seeing us as your friends. Maybe even your family perhaps-"

Tom grabbed the robotic hand firmly, halting it in its tracks as he glared up furiously. Tord stared down at the dark sockets, surprised by the rage fuelling behind them.

"Forget it, commie!" Tom snarled, pushing the hand away from him. "I might be your little test subject for your sick experiments, but I am most definitely not part of your stupid army. You are not my leader, and neither are you or anyone else around here my friend." Spitting out each word, Tom shoved him away, making Tord almost stumble back.

In the action, Tom took note how almost effortlessly he managed to shove the other one away. He hadn't felt this strong in a long time. It felt good, but at the same time he knew it was bad news.

Tord recovered from the move, staring back at the brit wide eyed.  _For someone who is so underweight, he sure is strong._  He regained his composure, fixing the collar of his uniform while throwing a little smirk in Tom's direction. "Whatever you say." He chuckled, making Tom fume.

Tord cleared his throat, turning his back to him and sliding the door to the cell open. "Come along now." He glanced sideways back at him. "We have important things to get to. The sooner we go, the earlier we get things done."

Tom grit his teeth and rolled his eyes. "Joy." He muttered in annoyance, following Tord out the room. "Can't wait to see what kind of torture you'll put me through first."

"Oh, you'll see."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Done!
> 
> Sorry if this chapter doesn't hold up as well as some of the previous ones. This one in particular held a lot of talking, answers and questions, so not a lot of action here. But there is foreshadowing to future events. Can you guess what they are? This chapter was supposed to be longer than this, but I don't like to write really long chapters and some of you keep requesting for another update soon, so I divided in half. So I guess you can count chapter 8 as the second part to this one.
> 
> No Matt and Edd in this one, nor the next, but maybe chapter 9. Things we'll get real good in chapter 9.
> 
> Once again I would I like to thank you all for your support and patience, I sincerely hope you guys enjoy this chapter, leave a review with your thoughts below! ;)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom spends some quality time with Paul and Pat, but gets into a fight with Tord.

The door slid shut behind them as they stepped out into the hallway, stretching both ways to his left and right. The walls were bland in colour, only greys and whites with black marble floors so shiny you could practically see your reflection gleaming back at you.

Tord turned the left hall. "Follow me, and please don't fall behind." He commanded, walking at a steady pace with his arms folded behind his back.

Tom was quick to follow, trailing behind to look around his surroundings in curiosity. There wasn't much to look at though. They passed by some rooms, but they didn't seem to hold anything of interest. Tom was overwhelmed by the sheer size of the base. _If this is the lower floor, how big is the entire base in total?_ He wondered.

He fell in step with Tord, walking to his left side where the red leader side glanced back at him. A grin stretched upon his face. "Impressed?" He asks smugly.

Tom turned back to Tord, his face contorting into a scowl. "Not really. This place is huge, sure, but there isn't much around here." He answered truthfully.

Tord nodded in understanding. "Maybe not down here. Like I said: this level is reserved only for you and the serum experiments." He says. "The upper levels are where most of the activity happens."

Tom turned to him with interest. "What is on the upper levels?" He questioned.

The Norsk hummed. "Training rooms, dining hall, soldier quarters, the medical bay; all of the main areas of interest for the army." He replied, turning to give a lopsided grin in Tom's way. "If you behave yourself, I can give you a tour of the upper area. But only if you behave."

Tom pursed his lips. "Doesn't sound worth my time." He muttered.

"Suit yourself." Tord shrugged and turned away, still leading them down the hall before turning right in the next intersection.

A long silence followed between the two of them. Tom kept his gaze fixed to the ground, occasionally looking up to check his surroundings. He had a few more questions he was thinking of asking, but considering how the last two times ended up against his favour; chances are he won't be asking anything from Tord any time soon. Paul and Patrick are his better shots now.

Tord glanced back at Tom through the corner of his eye. Tom was silent; face stretched into a frown and his dark sockets aimed at the ground.

_Should I tell him?_ Tord contemplated. _He's the one who requested me to do it, but still…_ He nearly spent the entire night researching diet plans and treatments for Tom's current condition. He was about to fall asleep on his desk when he got a mission report back from the soldiers he sent out under specific set of orders in a very special mission.

He inwardly sighed. _As leader, I carry the responsibility of delivering news to all my soldiers; both good and bad, no matter how hard it can be._ He thought determinably. _Sure, Tom isn't a soldier, but he still has the right to know. I owe him that much._

"The news have been delivered."

Tom looked up at Tord in confusion. "Huh?"

The Norsk sighed. "Our deal, remember?" He murmured without looking back. "I sent two of my soldiers in an undercover mission as cops and had them deliver the news to your friends." He made sure to put emphasis in 'your friends'. He side glanced back at Tom, his face devoid of emotion. "From now on, you are officially dead to the world."

Tom felt a cold chill run through him. "So, Matt and Edd… They-?" He tried to ask; but his mouth felt numb, as if it wasn't his.

Tord nodded solemnly. That's all Tom needed to confirm it.

His gaze fell down to the tiled floor once more, looking back at his reflection. _It is done then._ He though gloomily. _Matt and Edd now believe that I am dead. I am out of their lives for good. They won't have to worry about me anymore; and I am not going to burden them ever again._ Tom kept repeating the same arguments in his mind. He wasn't sure if this ritual was to reassure him that his friends would be alright, or to relieve himself of the pain that came along with the hard decision.

Tord glanced back at him to see Tom hunched over with his gaze never leaving the ground. The Brit's dark, soulless eyes were narrowed. To anyone else they would be enigmatic and could never tell what he was feeling or thinking. But Tord knew him. He could tell Tom was sad and was trying not to let his emotions get the better of him, or let it show. Tord felt a stab of sympathy for him. He kept in mind that despite hating each other, they did once live in the same house and got along; to an extent at least.

He pondered whether he should offer him some sort of comfort to relieve him of the sadness, but opted not to. Not because he thinks Tom should suffer this way, despite having a certain enjoyment to see him in pain, not even he would desire to see his old comrade suffer through this. He knows the feeling very well himself. But because Tord knows Tom wouldn't appreciate any sort of sympathy or comfort coming from him and would just mistake it for pity. So he left him be.

Tom continued to stare at the ground as they walked, keeping his breathing steady to calm his racing, anguished heart. _I did what I had to, to save Edd and Matt. I finally did something right for once. They will get over me; I know they will, they probably already did._

Tom was so deep in thought he failed to notice Tord stop in his tracks, making him bump into the red leader. Tord shot him a small sly smirk. "We're here." They stopped before a set of metal doors that slid open with a hiss.

Tom stared in amazement as the doors revealed the room before them. A large gym stands on the other side of the doors. It has everything! Treadmills, dumbbell racks, lifting benches, leverage systems, suspension trainers; there's even a track field! Tom stared at the scene before him in awe, his eyes wide and mouth hanging open. Tord grinned, suppressing his laughter down as he watched the eyeless man's reaction to the room.

"I take it you are impressed, now." Tord smirked triumphantly as the doors slid firmly shut behind them.

Tom regained his composure, shooting Tord a slight glare before crossing his arms and looking away with a scoff. He followed Tord into the room, still observing his surroundings in awe. He understands that Tord is the leader of an army, has multiple bases and whatnot, but he clearly underestimated his budget. Most items and apparel in the gym looked shiny and brand new. Did he have all this set up just for him?

Now that he got more used to his surroundings, Tom realized it wasn't just him and Tord in the room. He recognised the large, bushy eyebrows from afar. Paul was standing there, a few feet away from them doing push-ups and warmup rounds. He wasn't wearing his usual cobalt blue trench coat. He was only in his red sweater and dark pants, no shoes either, just socks. Tom was just about to question his reasoning for being there when he remembered what Tord told him the other day. _Oh yeah, Paul is supposedly in charge of my physical state or something._ He recalled dryly. Despite the hard feelings he still bares towards Paul, he was not going to argue. At this point, Tom is just glad he gets to interact with someone other than Tord now.

Paul had his back towards them, but he looked over his shoulder when he noticed their approach. "Ah, good morning sire! Good morning Thomas!" He cheerfully greeted them, still stretching his arms. "I hope you had a nice rest and you're ready for today's schedule."

Tom shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets and narrowing his gaze at the soldier. "Oh yeah, I just had the most pleasant sleep in a long while." He spoke sarcastically. "I don't know about you, but I just love being induced to sleep after getting electrocuted until I pass out. It does wonders to you!" He glared at Paul, then turned his dark, empty gaze to Tord. "Maybe you should give it a try sometime."

Paul's smile faltered slightly, and Tom could see him visibly sweat drop. Tord, on the other hand, kept on smiling. He gave Tom a half-hearted pat on the cheek, making him fume in anger. He wished he could lash out and defy him, but he knew that he could keep this up just for so long until Tord gets fed up with him, stops playing "nice", and goes complete sadistic mode. Tom knows better than to cross that line. Ever. He just grits his teeth and growls as the Norsk ruffled his hair before leaning away from his filthy touch.

Paul clasped his hands together, drawing their attention back to him. "Okay then. Let's get this started, shall we?" He prompted, motioning for Tom to come closer and, presumably, join him. Tom was just about to head over when a hand clamped down on the back of his hoodie, making him halt. Tom shot a questioning glare at Tord.

"I don't think you need me to remind you the consequences if you do anything remotely funny." Tord reminded coolly, letting go of his hold on the Brit's hoodie.

"What is this, the fifth time you tell me this?" Tom complained, about to walk away when Tord blocked his path with his robotic hand. He groaned in annoyance.

"Consider this your last warning then." Tord hissed into his ear, his tone laced with authority. "Play nice, or else."

He finally pulls his hand away, allowing Tom to pass. He rolled his empty sockets and walked away, making his way to stand right next to Paul. Tord watched his movements with a calculating gaze, opening his jacket to pull out the tablet from his inner pocket.

"Now Tom, for today we're gonna-"

"ARGHH! Dritt!"

Tom and Paul simultaneously jumped, startled by the sudden loud curse. Something fell and slammed to the ground, shattering in the process. The two of them whirled around. A tablet was broken and lying on the floor, the screen completely cracked. But what really got their attention was the red leader himself. He was hunched over, face scrunched up in pain as he gripped his robotic arm.

Tom raised one eyebrow as he noticed the way the red, metallic hand twitched and clenched, seemingly all on its own.

Paul quickly left his side and hurried over to Tord. "Is everything alright, sir?" He asks worriedly, helping his leader stand upright.

Tord hissed, leaning over Paul slightly for support before pulling away. "I-I'm fine Paul. Thank you." He muttered, still clenching his synthetic arm. "It's just the glitch acting up again. I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?" Paul prompted, clearly still worried for his leader's well-being. "Would you like me to escort you to your quarters, sir?" He offered.

Tord shook his head. "No. It's fine, I'll walk there myself." He reassured, making his way out the room. "You stay here and go through with the routine you planned for test subject #1826. When he's done, give him his uniform and send him to see Pat. I'll come back to check on you later if I fix the glitch in time." He waved away with his good hand as he stepped out of the room before the doors slid shut again.

Tom continued to stare at the door with intrigue. "What was that all about?" He prompted Paul, as he re-joined him.

Paul shook his head. "Boss's arm has a lot of uses aside from just being a limb replacement. Surely you must've noticed it by now." He murmured, scratching the back of his neck uneasily.

Tom recalled when he communicated with Pat after taking his deal, making the chair he was tied to into a wheel chair; and most recent, electrocuting him via the connection with the chip implanted on his spine. Tom inwardly shuddered at the reminder. Just the thought that Tord held so much control over his life was bad enough, but knowing he could do anything to him at any given time thanks to the stupid chip just made his situation a whole lot worse. He wondered what other things Tord's arm could control, and what other commands the chip was installed with. On the other hand, he doesn't want to find out.

Tom nodded. "Yeah, I noticed. What about it?"

Paul walked past him, heading over to a pile of exercise mats and dragging out two of them towards the centre where there's more room for them. "It wasn't programmed for this, originally. But leader is stubborn, and insisted on installing a bunch of commands and gadgets to better control the base." He continued, setting down the mats as Tom watched him. "The arm gets overworked at times and glitches. Sometimes it's just merely stiff clogs and bad wiring; but worst case scenario the arm gets overloaded and causes a haywire on the whole base."

Tom raised an eyebrow at this. "Is there anything in particular that sets it off?" He asks, voice laced with concern; when in reality it is merely used to conceal his immense interest in that bit of trivia.

"Not that I know of. It happens at random it seems, and always catches the boss of guard." Paul mumbled, not really paying attention to Tom as he prepped the mats down; unfolding them neatly on the ground.

Tom made a mental note of that. So far he came to realize Paul is incredibly ingenuous, not once suspicious of his questions or cared too much if he gave away any pivotal information regarding his leader. Which could be a good thing, considering Tom still has lots of questions and he is sick, and tired of Tord. Maybe he could use this as a chance to learn more without making any stupid deals.

Paul dusted his hands. "Alright Tom, please take off your shoes, get yourself on the mat, and then we will begin." He instructed.

Tom was about to step in when he says this. He halts and brings his foot up, clumsily taking off his shoes. "So, hm, what exactly are we doing?" He could help but ask; placing his shoes aside near a bench. After all the sh#t he went through in these last couple of hours, heavy exercise is the last thing going through his mind right now.

Paul seemed to have noticed his lack of enthusiasm, and offered him a friendly smile. "Don't worry. It's nothing too complicated." He assured. "Because of your current state, we can't risk you do any activities that might go beyond your physical capabilities."

Tom processed this. "So… No running or weight lifting?"

"Nope!" Paul smiled, emphasis on the "P". "So until we get any sort of change on your condition, we'll be doing simple stretching and warm up exercises."

Tom breathed a sigh of relief. He never been really fond of physical activity, and was always a strain to him. Maybe as a kid he might've once liked; when he was young, naïve and energized. But now that he is older, drunk most of the time, and an honest to god mess by every definition of the word; he simply didn't have it in him to do much most of the time. Two push ups and he is out cold. Unless his life is on the life he won't do much. And even then, that might not even be true anymore.

Tom stepped on the mat, taking his hands out form his pockets as he stands next to Paul, waiting for his instructions to begin.

"Alright, let's start off with something simple. Step your right foot all the way forward, and lower the rest of your body into a lunge. Place your fingertips on the mat." Paul ordered, doing the same to show Tom how exactly it is done. "Like this! Stay like that for 30 seconds then switch with your other leg."

Tom did as he was told, and copied Paul's movements; getting into position. But his mind wasn't focusing on the exercise. _What should I ask him?_ He contemplated. Who knows how long it will take Tord to fix the glitch in his arm, and he may not get another chance to talk with Paul on his own.

"So, uh, where do you guys get most of this stuff?" He opted for a more ordinary question to test the waters. According to what Tord told him, they had multiple jobs to pay for the equipment because it's more low-key than simply stealing the stuff they need. But even so, he never specified from where he got them. Tom doubted Tord would waltz into a store and buy this sh#t like a regular person; specially with his face splattered everywhere in wanted posters.

Tom shifted his position as the 30 seconds were up, and changed to his left foot on the front. "Oh, most stuff we have here was already in the base when we found it." Paul responded, also changing his position. "Though back then it was a complete dump with dust and cobwebs everywhere." He joked.

"Wait, you guys didn't build the base then?" Tom asks, glancing back at him sideways.

"Nah, this base is old. It was built during the first world war, improved in the second but then it was left to rot; gathering dust and forgotten through time." Paul replied, standing upright. "Alright, now stand with your feet tucked close together, and raise your arms straight above your head. Clasp your hands together, with your fingers interlaced and pointer fingers extended. Inhale as you reach upward." He instructed. "Breathe out as you bend your upper body to the right. Take five slow breaths. Slowly return to the center. Repeat on the left side."

Tom did as he was told, gathering his breath and leaning to the right with his hands clasped together above his head. "Like I was saying; the base was here this whole time. When Tord bought the location from our supplier, we cleaned this place up and made some improvements to better support the army." Paul went on. "That's why this base is our main one; it's the biggest one we have and is right in red leader's home nation."

Tom whirled around, so fast he nearly got whiplash. "Wait! What are you saying?" He exclaimed in shock. "You mean that, we aren't in England?"

Paul looked back at him, startled by his sudden reaction. "We are in Norway, Tom." He answered, as if the fact was obvious. "Did red leader not tell you this?"

Tom shook his head. How long had he been asleep since the incident in the pub? To travel from England all the way to Norway, and not once waking up. It seems Tord thought up of everything in order to make Tom's capture a success. Even if he were to escape, he would have nowhere to go.

"Are you okay?" Paul asks worriedly, watching his expressions carefully. "I'm sorry, I thought you already knew this."

Tom put his hand up, gesturing him to stop. "I-It's fine, I just- I guess I just wasn't expecting this. But knowing Tord, really, I should've."

Paul shot him a sympathetic look. "Are you going to be okay?"

Tom nodded slowly. "Yeah, I'll be fine." He ran a hand through his hair. "Let's just… Get on with the exercises."

Paul looked at him with concern but didn't say anything. He nodded and went back to the stretching exercise; starting to count his breaths from scratch. Tom followed suit, stretching his arms and leaning to the left. He felt his shoulders crack as he stretched his limbs. It's been a while since he did anything of the sort. Back home, he spent most of his time drinking and watching TV; among other activities… Even when he did leave his house to make short walks to the market or the bar, it still wasn't enough, and now his joints feel like cracking so effortlessly.

After he was done stretching, and frankly, cracking most of his joints at this point; Paul turned toward him once more. "Okay, now stretch your right arm ahead of you, and fold your left arm beneath it to support it; Like this!" Paul demonstrated the move, showing Tom how's done. "Stay in this position for 20 seconds then switch arms."

Tom did so, his eyes furrowed and his mouth drawn in a frown. "You mentioned something about a supplier."

"Ah yes, they have been a great help to get the army to its feet." Paul commented. "Not sure how red leader met them, but ever since we struck a deal with them our armoury and tech have gotten a whole lot better."

Tom switched his arms, listening intently to all the information he was being given. "But wait a minute, isn't Tord supposedly a genius or something?" He inquired. "I mean, if he could build a giant robot, sofa cubes, and… the serum. Surely he would have been able to improve stuff around here on his own."

Paul laughed; not mockingly, but a genuine one. "The boss is good, but not that good! He still needs the right equipment and tools to create things. He didn't create that robot out of nothing!" He answered in amusement. "Not even the serum itself he created on his own! He has a good knowledge on chemicals and that sort of thing, but he still needed the primary element-"

"Primary element?" Tom exclaimed in confusion; more questions swirling through his mind. "What's the primary element?"

Paul stopped, looking at him with an expression of nervousness mixed with concern. "What's in this serum anyway?" Tom demanded, stepping closer to him with narrowed eyes. "And who is this supplier exactly?"

Paul rubbed the back of his head uneasily. "Uh, look, please don't take this personally; but I'm not allowed to talk about this sort of thing with you. Red leader's orders." He admitted hesitantly, as if he were afraid to accidentally trigger the Brit's rage. "I shouldn't even be mentioning this stuff to you in the first place! I guess I got a little carried away there, and to be quite honest I am not exactly the best person to answer these questions anyway." He smiled sheepishly.

Tom clenched his knuckles in frustration but did not say anything against the soldier. He looked down in disappointment and backed away.

"If you really want to know these thing, then you should ask Tord himself." Paul suggested. "You may not believe this, but he likes it when you ask him things; especially if they are about the army!"

Tom rolled his empty eyes and scoffed. "Of course he likes it! Because that gives him a leverage to ask things from me in return with his stupid deals!"

Paul fumbled with his hands nervously, shuffling his feet with his gaze cast downwards. "Come on, let's go back to the exercises." He nudged him gently. "No more questions for today."

As he began to instruct on the next couple of positions, Tom's mood quickly fell. He had a silver platter of answers, practically handing itself to him with no strings attached; and yet he managed to screw it up for himself. He should've controlled his eagerness to know more, but he couldn't help it. Paul was being so nice and giving away answers so freely he got enthusiastic. _Dam it!_ He seethed silently.

The rest of their exercises went on quietly now that Tom was no longer pestering Paul for more answers. It went calmly, and in Tom's opinion, kind of boring. Just stretching the muscles in a bunch of different positions. Kind of awkward as well with the silence. Then Paul changed tactics a bit and made Tom do 35 jumping jacks. And here he was thinking he would get only a session purely out of limb stretching. He was already out of breath by the tenth, and he was completely red and sweaty by the time he finished. He felt like he was about to pass out.

Then Paul ordered him to do ten push-ups. Tom could barely pass the first one before his weak arms gave out underneath him and he fell face first into the mat. He groaned and laid there for a while, trying to catch his breath. Paul looked down at him with concern.

"You know, I think that's enough for today." Paul concluded. Tom quickly figured the soldier was pitying him and his miserable state. "Why don't you go take a shower, and then you can go and see Pat."

Tom breathed heavily, slowly nodding in agreement to his suggestion. He struggled to get back at his feet; feeling his muscles burning and sweat drenching most of his hair and face. From the corner of his eye he saw a hand extended out towards him. Looking up, Paul was with his hand outstretched in his direction and a friendly smile; lending him assistance to get up. Tom hesitated a little, but took the offered help anyway. Paul hauled him up, making him stagger sideways.

"The showers are back there." The soldier gestured in the direction, keeping a hand to steady Tom from falling back down out of exhaustion. "You go ahead, and when you're done you can change into your new clothes." He turns back momentarily, and hands Tom neatly folded clothes consisting of a white shirt, dark gray pants, and a pair of socks.

Tom takes the clothes from him. He stares down at them in thought, giving a curt nod in response. He walks away and heads to the showers as Paul puts back the mats in their proper places. Swinging the restroom's door open, Tom followed the white-tilled corridor, turning the corner he was met with a startling sight. Himself. He gasps out of surprise and backs away, hiding behind the corner and pressed his back against the wall. He takes a moment to calm down his racing heart. It's been a while since he last saw his reflection; and for good reason.

When he deemed himself calm enough, Tom walked out from the corner but kept his gaze casted downwards. _Don't look at it._ He repeated the thought in his mind as he walked past the mirrored wall to his left, and made way to the shower stall at the far end. He sets his clothes down by the sink, when he notices an air vent standing above him. Careful to keep his gaze away from the mirror, he narrowed his eyes at the vent. It's small, and yet big enough for him to fit in. If he was ever thinking of escape, he would try using the vent. But since he wasn't, he wouldn't bother with it. Tom knows there is no escape for him at this point. Alive anyways.

Rather reluctantly, Tom took off his clothes and headed into the shower. The warm, steaming water fell over his back and drenched his hair. Tom flinched at the contact at first; the heavy torrent against his bare back, but eventually settled in with the pain that ran along with the scars and bruises scattered all over his body. He closed his eyes and just stood there, feeling the water run over him. It was strangely soothing. Or maybe it's just the fact that he hadn't showered for such a long time, that could probably have something to do with this feeling.

After the seemingly long shower; consisting mostly of Tom just standing in the steaming water deep in thought, he dried himself with the fluffy, white towel; still making sure to keep his gaze away from the mirror. _Don't look at it._ He had the urge to slam his fists furiously against the reflective, glass wall but he reframed. Paul would undoubtedly hear the commotion and barge in on him with a towel. He doesn't want to go through this humiliation, even if it were to save him from looking at himself again. And even if he weren't to hear him shatter the mirrors, someone would notice sooner or later and confront him about it. He doesn't want to explain himself or give Tord more leverage over him.

Tom starts to put on the new set of clothes given to him when he stops rather abruptly at the sight of his new shirt. It is short-sleeved. The simple white shirt has a name tag with his subject numbers #1826, and even though it made Tom feel more like a prisoner than he did before, it's the sleeved that got him most peeved. He put on the shirt, feeling it be rather loose on his thin frame, and stared down at his own body. He can't possibly wear this! The short sleeves displayed his injured arms like a sore thumb. They will question him about it, and what will he tell them? Tord knows him too well and would pick up any lies from a mile away. He already knows of his malnourished state; granted, it doesn't seem like he connected the dots, yet, but he will see the various bruises along his arms and he will know then that something bigger is up. Tord can never find out.

That's when Tom quickly solved the issue, by putting his blue hoodie back on. Sure, it stinks, he hadn't washed it in weeks, is torn in some places with a few holes from being worn out so much; but he frankly doesn't care. It's his best solution at this point, and if anyone asks he'll say he doesn't want to let go of his hoodie for personal issues. Fake a sad look, and anyone will believe he's talking about his previous life. Besides, with Tord gone he only has to convince Paul to keep the hoodie. Easy peasy!

He straightened the edges of his hoodie, making sure his sleeves are down and covering his scars. Once he was content with his clothing, Tom walked out of the restroom. Paul was still there, looking around at the gym equipment; making sure everything is in their proper place and in nice condition. Tom cleared his throat to bring his attention.

Paul turned back to him with a look of surprise. "Oh, are you done?" He notices the dirty blue hoodie clinging to the Brit's frame. Tom nodded in response, feeling uncomfortable under the soldier's curious stare as he went forward and placed his shoes back on.

"Yeah I'm done. I hope there's no problem in keeping the hoodie, though." Tom spoke before Paul could question him about it. "You understand, don't you? It's the only thing I have left of my friends…" He trailed off, faking a sad expression on his face for effect. That seemed to do the trick, as Paul gazed at him with sympathy and a small frown on his face.

He rubbed the back of his neck. "W-well, I suppose the boss won't mind…"

Tom inwardly cheered, keeping his deadpan façade on de outside. "Thanks."

Paul nodded back in understanding, smiling slightly. "Now that you're done here, I will escort you to Patrick. He's waiting for you and your appointment." He says, walking by Tom's side and nudging him forward.

"Appointment?"

"Hm! For your mental evaluation protocol, remember?" Paul reminded him eagerly. "Pat's put in charge of your mental state to make sure you are up for the experiments."

Tom kept his face neutral, but he inwardly cringed and groaned at the motion. Thankfully he's dealing with Patrick, not Tord in this situation. And speaking of the devil, the horned bastard himself was standing right outside the doors as they slid open. Tom nearly bumped into him if it weren't for Paul keeping one hand to steady him.

"Oh? You two are already done?" Tord questioned, tilting his head slightly. His eye narrowed, however, as it fixed its steady gaze on Tom; looking down at him in a somewhat scrutinizing manner. "Why is he not wearing the uniform?" He inquired.

Tom intervened before Paul could give a proper response. "I am wearing the stupid uniform underneath the hoodie." He answered irritably, lifting up the bottom of his hoodie just enough to show he's telling the truth. "Chill out, will yah?"

Tord kept staring at him, his eye calculating and cold. "Take it off."

Tom reared back in surprise, bewildered by the sudden and blunt request. "What?"

"Your jacket is a mess, and smells absolutely putrid." The norsk leader stated simply. "Take that off."

Tom backed away nervously. "Uh, I was wondering if I could keep it? You know, for sentiment reasons and stuff?"

Tord's gaze softened a bit, but he shook his head. "You can keep it, but at least take it off now so we may wash it." He pointed out. "It's dirty and a complete mess."

Tom's nervous look turned into irritation. "How do I know you'll give it back after washing?" He argued. "As far as I know, you could just trash it and not even care."

Tord sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with a similar expression. "I give you my word we will give it back to you as soon as it gets cleaned and mended."

"I don't believe you!" Tom spat, glaring at him.

"Enough! Take the hoodie off, Tom." Tord demanded, his patience running out. Paul watched the two of them anxiously, feeling the tension rise between them. But Tom was not going to back down. Not this time.

"No."

Tord's expression darkened. "What did you say to me?" He growled, stepping closer to him, stiff with fury rising inside of him.

Tom was not intimidated. On the contrary actually; he felt confident and angry at the same time, and he directed everything toward the person standing right in front of him. "You know what? I had it with your stupid ways and rules! I'm not listening to you anymore!" He snapped, glaring at the Norsk with pure hatred, and one finger raised in his direction as he marched towards him. "You think you are so special with your stupid army, ridiculous position, absurd goals of taking over the world, and sh#ty fancy base? What are you without any of these things?" He continued to shout, stepping closer and closer to Tord, without noticing the sense of danger looming over him. Tord's face darkened more with each step taken, each word spat his way; he felt his anger boil more and more. His hands clenched tightly into fists, and yet his face is neutral, and devoid of emotion.

"I'll tell you what you are without any of these things; and that is NOTHING! You are nothing more than just some scared little kid, trying to act mighty and tough, hoping in vain that he will be anything of value in the future." Tom was now just inches away from Tord, and he glared up at him without fear in his dark orbs. His vision is hazed and tinted with a certain darkness that made it focus on solely at the source of his anger, which in this case, is Tord himself. But the haze, despite hurting his head and pulsate with something indescribable, it made Tom feel better; strong and powerful. He finally is on top of things! "Is that why you ran away like the coward that you are? Is that why you abandoned Edd, Matt and I for? Because you know you are nothing without this stuff? Well, because guess what? You are still NOTHING!"

Then the next few seconds happened in a blur; it all went down so fast Tom's mind barely registered until it was too late. The foggy haze in his mind was gone, and it was replaced with confusion and fatigue. He was panting heavily, not sure what just happened. Strangely enough, he felt a soft fabric being held in his left hand. He looked down and felt his blood run cold. In his hand, he held a black eyepatch dangling between his fingers, and his nails have small traces of blood on them. Tom began to tremble at the realization. _Oh f#ck, it's getting strong again._ But that's not the only thing that got him worried with apprehension.

Tom looked up, seeing Paul's completely horrified face as he covered his mouth with both hands and stared back at him wide eyed. And standing right in front of him, stood the worst. Tord had his face turned away, his right side facing him. The scars were shown more prominently now with the absence of his eyepatch. A ring of bloody nail marks surrounded his exposed eye, which was clenched tightly shut. His eye suddenly snapped open and Tom felt his heart stop and lose his breath. Tord slowly turned to face him, a scowl present amongst his features. His right eye, which was previously covered, was exposed for Tom to see; displaying the glazed over and scarred eye which despite being obviously blind, still managed to set its sights on Tom.

Tom tried to back away, find some sort of excuse for his sudden erratic behaviour. But there's no going back now. Tord lashed out at him with his metal hand, and gripped him tightly by the throat. Tom choked and tried to pull the hand away to allow oxygen in his lungs once again, but his grip on him only tightened.

Tord brought him closer. "You really shouldn't have done that." He snarled to his face.

Quite unexpectedly, Tom felt the room whirl and swirl all around him before the pressure on his throat was released and he was suddenly thrown away. He landed on the stack of dumbbells, breaking the shelf in half, and most of the heavy weights landing on top of him. His back hurt from the heavy landing and he felt stunned by the sudden hit. Before he could have a chance to recover, Tord was already towering over him and he attacked. Tom and Tord were stuck and locked together in a furious, writhing tussle that flipped and somersaulted around the gym. Tord punched and kicked, trying to rip off Tom's hoodie by force; while Tom clawed and bit back in defence.

Paul watched them from the corner, wide eyed and shaking in apprehension as he wasn't sure what to do in the situation. He pulled out his communicator from his pocket, and pressed the call.

"Patrick, we got a problem here!"

_"What's going on?~"_

"Red leader is going absolutely berserk!" Paul flinched as Tord threw Tom across the other side of the room. "Test subject #1826 provoked him and ripped off his eyepatch, and now red leader is giving him a beating!"

_"Stop him then!~"_

"I-I can't!"

_"What you mean you can't?~"_

"I don't know what to do Pat!" Paul cried out, trembling with nervousness as he kept an eye on the ongoing struggle. "If I stop I will be defying the boss's orders and he will get angry! Well, angrier than he already is."

_"Believe me when I tell you, he will be a lot worse once he realizes he accidentally killed his last test subject.~"_ The voice answered through the static amidst the commotion. _"I'll be there in a jiffy. Try to keep Tord at bay from harming Tom any further until I get there!~"_

"Roger that!" He turned off his communicator, ending the call.

Tord got Tom pinned against him, his arms encircled tightly around Tom's waist and chest as the he struggled against him. Then Tom felt the collar of his hoodie get pulled back forcefully and tighten around his neck. Tord had gripped the collar with his normal hand while his robotic one kept its hold on Tom's waist, and he was tugging hard on him. Tom felt a terrible pressure on his throat. Unable to breathe, his survival instincts kicked him and he started to panic. He writhed and twisted in the Norwegian's hold, but each movement only made the pressure worse.

Retching and gulping for air, Tom summoned up all his remaining strength to pull away from Tord's grip, but to no avail. He noticed how the way that Tord was holding him up, off the ground, was meant to choke him while the bottom part remained free; leaving a spacious area which he could easily slide through. He knew this is part of Tord's plan, to force him out of his hoodie. But his instincts to survive were stronger. So with a last deep breath, he kicked back hard into Tord's leg, earning a hiss of pain from him and loosening his hold. Tom took this opportunity to slide out of Tord's grasp, pulling away from his beloved hoodie completely.

Tord stumbled away from him, fumbling with the mess of blue cloth in his hands. Tom remained crouched on the ground, taking in ragged breaths of air. His relief didn't last long, however, as a heavy weight suddenly slammed on his back and pinned him down. He got dazed by the blow, and was turned around; his back on the floor and face up.

Tord was straddling him, with his legs positioned on either side of tom's ones. Tom tried to land in a punch, but Tord easily caught it with his robotic fist and grabbed both his hands in his grasp; keeping them raised above his head. Tord glared down at him with a somewhat mischievous smirk, as his gloved hand rumaged through his uniforms inner pocket.

"Remember, you brought this upon yourself." Tord spat, pulling out some handcuffs and some strange looking collar. Tom struggled underneath him but it was futile. Tord easily overpowered him and got both his wrists shackled together. Then, once he was deemed immobile enough Tord bent forward, nearly laying on top of him, and clasped the metal collar around Tom's neck before pulling away.

Tord got off of him, standing up, while Tom sits up to catch his breath. His face is completely bruised due to Tord's assault on him, which went along nicely with his other bodily injuries; thankfully to which Tord still had yet to take notice of.

"I run an army, Thomas. Don't think that I don't know discipline." Tord growled, towering over the shackled, and bruised Brit panting heavily on his knees. He narrowed his eyes; gripping Tom's chin harshly with his normal hand, he lifted his head up to look directly at him. Tom met his cold gaze with a glare of his own, baring his teeth at him in a snarl. "If you're going to behave like an animal, I can treat you like one."

Tom's only response was a deep growl rumbling in his throat. Tord narrowed his eyes further before pulling away. "Maybe this will teach you a lesson then." He says, as he raised his robotic hand up and pressed one of the buttons.

Suddenly, the collar around Tom's neck started to tighten; the pressure getting increasingly larger by the second as his air cavity was blocked. Before long, Tom fell down to his side and started to writhe on the floor; fighting in vain for air. He choked and gagged desperately, trying to claw at the collar with his shackled hands but to no avail. At one point, amidst his struggle, he locked eyes with Tord who was watching him in morbid fascination. Tom, despite the pain and lack of air, still managed to throw him a mocking smile. "K-kinky." He choked out, his vision blurring with black spots.

Just as he was about to succumb to the approaching darkness, the pressure was suddenly lifted away, and air immediately flooded his lungs. Tom snapped his eyes back open and took large gulps of air. He felt relief for this, but couldn't help but feel disappointed as well. _So close!_

He sat up and looked around the room. Tord was being pinned down by Paul, who held him face down and one hand securely placed upon the deadly, metallic arm. Tom was watching them when a new set of hands clasped his shoulders and gently heaved him to his feet. Looking up, he discovered the owner of said hands is none other than Patrick; his face was full of concern but also held irritation in his expression.

"What do the two of you think you're doing?" Tord growls out, glaring back at the both of them. "Let go of me!"

"You've gone too far, Tord. You can thank us later for preventing you from doing something you would've certainly regretted." Patrick stated, still keeping steady hands on Tom so he wouldn't fall over from fatigue.

"I am your leader!" Tord continued to struggle. "You do what I say!"

Patrick shook his head, clicking his tongue. "Not with that kind of attitude." He decided. "Paul, please escort him to his office and give him something to calm down his temper. I will go ahead with Tom to our appointment."

Paul gave a curt nod of understanding. "Yes, Pat!"

Tord trashed around even more fiercely at this. "Treason! Mutiny!" He spat at them. "You dare go up against the words of your leader?"

Patrick helped support Tom as they started to walk out of the room. The gym's doors slid open with a hiss, but before they stepped out, they paused, and Patrick turned to gave one last look in Tord's direction. "Like I said, you can thank us later." He then sighed in exasperation. "Honestly sir, you really shouldn't let your anger get the best of you this way. And here I thought you were making progress."

They started to walk again, but before the doors could slid shut again; Tom risked one last look behind him. Tord had stopped struggling, tiring himself out and was left panting for breath. His cold gray eyes then locked with his solid black ones again, earning a small gasp out of him; and the doors slid shut again with a hiss.

Patrick escorted Tom to his office, letting him lean on him for support as he was limping slightly. His hands were still shackled together, and the metal collar clasped around his neck weighted heavily. Tom was still having a hard time catching his breath again. After the whole ordeal and nearly choking to death, the collar was still bothering him. The walk through the bland, gray and white corridors was long and quiet. With neither one of them saying anything.

Finally, Patrick decided to break the silence. "You are an idiot." He simply says, earning an emotionless glare from Tom. "Did you honestly think irritating the red leader would end up good for you in the end?"

Tom shrugged in response, not bothering to defend his reasoning. "Maybe if the commie hadn't insisted on something I wasn't willing to comply, none of this would've happened." He pointed out tiredly. "He should've just drop it and let it slide."

As he spoke, Tom failed to realize Patrick's eyes scanning over his form. He looked up and down at him, analysing his thin stature; but most importantly, the deep purple bruises and cuts littered seemingly everywhere along his arms. Patrick adverted his gaze away immediately when he sensed Tom's eyes shift back to him, not giving anything away with his expressionless face. But he made a mental note to inspect the bruises at a later date. You know, once Tom was deemed calm and compliant enough.

They eventually came upon an oak wooden door, out of place amongst the advanced technological setting they were in. Patrick turned the knob and swung the door open. Tom almost gasped at the sight of the room. If the door was already out of place, the rest of the room made it seem as if he just went through a portal. Wooden floor, wine red carpet, books neatly stacked on the shelves, a fireplace, glass desk, and two large recliner chairs that looked extremely comfortable.

Tom continued to look in awe around the room, as Patrick helped him in and set him down on one of the large chairs. "Sit here, I'll be back in a little while." He told the him, hurrying out the room through another wooden door.

Tom fidget in his seat a little before relaxing; sitting back, and enjoying the comfortable leather cushions against his back. Shame his hands and neck were still shackled, otherwise he would've enjoyed the feeling at its fullest. His fresh bruises also stung and hurt a little, but did not bother him too much. He was already used to the feeling, after all. However, he was used to pain being inflected on his body; mostly his arms and torso. His face is a different manner. Tom, as much as he hates himself by any definition of the word and had urges to harm his face, couldn't risk the others finding out. With his arms and torso, it's easy to hide with the help of his hoodie. But he can't hide his face from them.

Tom jumped a little on his seat when Patrick came back into the room. The Polish man approached him, holding some kind of tool in his hand. He knelt down next to him. "Hold still. I won't hurt you." He reassured him, taking the tool to his handcuffs. Tom watched him fumble quietly with his shackles before a resonating 'click' sounded and his cuffs were released. Tom rubbed his sore, red wrists to relieve a bit from the pressure as Patrick turned his attention to his collar. He craned his neck to the side, giving him more access and room to work with. Before long, the heavy clasp around his neck was relieved as well, and Tom immediately felt relief in being able to breath comfortably again.

"Better now?" Patrick prompted, standing back to his feet.

"Y-yeah, much better. Thanks!" Tom says, still rubbing his sore wrists and neck.

"You're welcome." Pat retreats back to the same door he came out previously from.

Tom tried to lean sideways and take a peek in the other room, but all he got was a glimpse of a bright room with white tiles. _A lab of some kind?_ He heard a loud noise coming from the other side of that door, and Tom began to wonder what Patrick could possibly be doing. He wanted to get up and explore around the room during the Polish man's absence. But after going through a routine of exercises and getting the living sh#t beaten out of him by the commie bastard, his muscles felt sore and hurt just from lifting them. So Tom decided to keep still in his seat.

The door swung open again, with Patrick strolling into the room with a plastic cup in his hand; an orange straw poked out from the hole at the top of the transparent dome lid. Patrick approached him and offered the cup. "Here, drink this."

Tom shifted his gaze from his face to his outstretched hand with the cup. "What is it?" He asks, narrowing his eyes; filled with suspicion.

"I took the liberty to concoct a special drink for you. Seeing as how it's been at least an hour since your last meal, and after going through that whole dramatic ordeal; I thought you might be hungry." Patrick explained. "I put together different kinds of fruits, carrots, ginger, beets, milk, ice, a little bit of sugar, and then blended everything together to make you this healthy energy drink."

Tom hesitantly took the cup from him. He stared down into the clear lid and analysed the cup's contents. The juice inside is orange, with a few specks of red and green along with the floating chunks of blended ice. He gave a light sniff, but couldn't smell anything aside from fruit. "What else is in it?" He prompted, turning his dark gaze back to Patrick.

The Polish man sighed. "I understand your ill feelings towards me and Paul for putting you through all of this. But we already apologized, and there is nothing more to be done about it now." He said tiredly. "There's no reason for us to drug you anyway. Besides, you made a deal with red leader about the use of anaesthetics on you and that includes any sort of drugs that might induce sleep. So you don't have to be worried about us drugging your food."

_He does have a point._ Tom let himself relax, going with his way of thinking did make sense. He stared down at the cup again, judging and debating whether or not he should drink it. Tom realized there really is no more reason for him to be denying to eat at this point, since it will only make Tord angry and bring nothing but bad things for himself. Pat just reassured him they won't drug him again, unless he asks for them himself. Even if he hates the mere notion of feeding his suppressed side, Tom knows that there is nothing else he can do to prevent it from coming out now. His last and only hope now, is for Tord to fail his plan. If he does, then Tom will finally be free from this wretched curse plaguing his mind with horrible thoughts, voices and visions; and defiling his body in such a way. In fact, the only reason he refused to eat anything at first despite their deal was because Tom didn't want to give in to Tord so easily. But most importantly, it was to keep the beast at bay a little while longer. But now, he senses it's return.

Patrick watched him curiously, turning away to take the seat across from Tom, but never taking his sights off him. He observed as Tom kept his gaze furrowed, solely focus on the straw before he finally took the straw between his lips and took a sip of the cold drink. Tom's eyes widened, pulling away and licking his lips. "This is… Great!" He exclaimed with genuine surprised, taking another eager sip.

"I'm glad to hear it." Pat smiled slightly, pleased with himself for managing to bring out a different emotion from the test subject; other than deadpanned or moody sour. "Hopefully, if you like this drink well enough, it might be a new healthy substitute for your Smirnoff addiction." He commented.

Tom shot him a small glare his way, pulling away from the straw. "As if." He scoffed. "I mean, this drink is good and all, really freaking good; but nothing could ever replace my love for Smirnoff!"

Patrick sat back in his dark brown, leather, recliner chair. He pulled a thin pair of glasses from the breast pocket of his blue coat, and a black tablet from the coffee table next to him. He flipped the tablet open and placed the glasses neatly over his eyes. "So Tom, let's get started with our appointment, shall we?" He inquired. "Why don't you start by telling me a bit more about yourself?"

Tom raised an eyebrow. "Dinner and a movie first, buddy."

Patrick stared back at him, his face turning deadpanned. "Tom…" He started, using a lighter tone his reprimanding voice.

Tom rolled his eyes, 'tsking' in response and placed his drink on the small table next to him. "No offence, but, I don't think this is going to work. I don't do well with psychologists, and you are not even a real one!" He pointed out, crossing his arms. "Besides, you are working for commie! Anything I tell you goes directly to him, and there's no way I am telling you anything about me." He argued.

Patrick pursed his lips into a thin line, humming in thought. "Fair enough."

"Huh?"

"I understand your concerns, Thomas. So, to make this a more pleasant experience for you, I will be doing it your way for a change." Pat decided, meeting Tom's black gaze evenly. "You are already forced into this mess as it is, might as well give you a little bit more freedom; and I hope to get, at the very least, a bit more compliance from you in return."

Tom stared back at him with wide, black eyes. "R-really?" He couldn't help but stutter. Pat just gave a smile and nod to confirm. Right there and then, Tom would've rushed at him and given the polish soldier a tight hug, if it weren't for the fact he was trying to act cool and defiant all the time. Finally! F#cking finally, somebody was actually willing to hear him out for once! Not force him to do it their way despite being uncomfortable with the situation he's in. Patrick just became his favourite person in this entire base at the drop of a hat. Sure, maybe he got along better with Paul with his somewhat shy and upbeat attitude, but Tom hasn't entirely forgiven him for the pub incident, or the chip implanting behind his back. And Tord? Pfft! As if there's any contest with him around. F#ck the commie!

"So how would you prefer we do this?" Patrick prompted, fixing the glasses to their proper position on his face.

Tom fumbled with his fingers. "I will go along with our "psychologist appointment" without any fuss, if you promise me three things. Number one: if along our talk we go into any sort of topic which I am not comfortable in discussing, I will have the right to not talk about it if I want to." He demanded, earning a curt nod from Patrick. "Second: You can't tell none of the things I tell you to Tord. Real psychologists keep their sessions private, and between the two of them. So, I think it's fair you do the same. I am putting my trust on you."

Patrick typed down his demands, to keep it as reference for future appointments. "Anything else?"

Tom looked away, fumbling with his hands nervously and his face flushing from embarrassment. He mumbled something, but so quietly it was incomprehensible. Pat leaned in his seat to hear him better and requested for him to repeat it. Tom flushed more. "Have a cup of this energy vitamin made for every session." He spoke out loud, looking down at his feet in embarrassment.

Patrick chuckled in amusement, making Tom flush even more out of embarrassment. "Don't laugh at me!" He whined.

"No, no, no! I'm not laughing at you!" Pat corrected politely. "I merely find your hesitance to accept things amusing. It's okay to admit you like something. This room is supposed to be a free environment for you to speak freely without any fear of being judged. So, you don't have to be bashful in here."

Tom relaxed, feeling his shoulders sag and he pressed his back against the chair. Gingerly, he grabbed a hold of the cup and took another sip.

"Very well, Tom. I will try my best as your psychologist, to meet up with your demands." Patrick vowed. "Now that we have this settled, where would you like to begin?" He inquired.

Tom set the drink down again, his gaze cast downwards. "I guess I could talk a little about myself." He suggested hesitantly, earning a reassuring nod from Patrick in return to carry on. Tom sighed. "Man, where do I even begin? I, uh…" He rubbed the back of his neck.

"Why don't we start with your family?" Patrick offered. "How was your relationship with your parents growing up?"

Tom blinked. "Right. Uh, so like I previously mentioned before, my parents were a pineapple and a bowling ball. It's weird thinking back now, but they were all I got back then and I didn't mind it." He murmured. "They didn't talk much, but they always tried their best to keep me happy."

"Any fond memories of them?" Pat inquired, typing down bullet points in his tablet.

Tom nodded. "Yeah, I remember this one time it was raining a lot. I might've been four or five at the time, I'm not sure. I used to be afraid of storms back then; cowering whenever lightning struck." He reminisces wistfully. "My parents comforted me; stayed with me the whole night, reassuring me that storms don't last forever." He remembers that night like it was only yesterday. He was just a frightened little toddler, hiding beneath the covers of his bed with his yellow onesie and light blue strap pants with red buttons. He shivered and clutched his Tomee bear tightly close to him. Light flashed across his dark toom as lightning struck outside, thunder booming loudly and he cried out in fright. His parents came into the room, hearing his cries, and they stayed with him the whole night until the storm had passed. It brought back longing memories of his childhood. The good old days when everything was simple and innocent. What Tom wouldn't give to go back to that time.

Patrick continued to type down on his notes. He made bullet points to better classify the different aspects of Tom's life. He typed down: _Happy upbringing – Good relationship with parents._ "That's good to hear, Thomas." Pat murmured, fixing his glasses. "Do you still keep contact with your parents?"

Tom's small smile fell into a frown, and his gaze cast downward in expressionless sorrow. "They're dead."

Patrick froze at this. "Oh, I-I'm so sorry. I had no idea." He apologized calmly; careful not to say the wrong thing by accident and set him off.

Tom shrugged. "It's fine. They have been gone for a while now, so it doesn't hurt as much as it once used to." He muttered, not meeting Patrick's gaze, sitting across from him. "My father was killed when I was eight. We were out fishing when he got shot, by all things, a bear with a gun." He crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. "Then it was only my mother and I for the longest time. Dad's demise hit her hard, but she still managed to take her time to care for me. She died when I was seventeen, just a little after I graduated from school. But by that point I was already planning on moving out to live with my friends-" _And Tord, the slimy bastard._ "- Anyway."

Patrick nodded in understanding, humming along as he typed down a different bullet point beneath the family category. _Possible childhood trauma?_ He put a question mark in there, as he still need to see any clear signs on Tom's behaviour that might point him towards this direction. So far, from what he observed from Tom's attitude and response, the eyeless man seemed cool and collected when talking about the deaths of his parents, but Patrick could still detect the sadness laced beneath his tone of voice.

"Do you have any other relatives aside from your parents?" Patrick asks curiously.

Tom shook his head. "None that I know of." He sighed deeply, closing his eyes momentarily. He went on to grab the cup and take another sip, but the straw is already scraping the bottom contents of the leftover juice. Tom whined in discontent as he felt the light weight of the cup.

"Well, is there anything in particular you would like to discuss about your family?" Pat questioned, folding his legs neatly. "Any particular issues, problems growing up, or anything of the sort?"

Tom pursed his lips, deep in thought. He recalled his childhood and all the moments spent with his family. Tom figured, no, he never had any issues with them. You know, aside from the fact they are objects and not actual people, but that never bothered him to begin with; even now when he is old enough to know it's kind of messed up. But for what they were, his parents were good and they did their best to raise and care for him despite everything. Too bad it ended up with the mess that he is now; as if he couldn't get more messed up!

"No. I think I'm good." Tom replied nonchalantly.

Patrick took his time to type something down. "Right, now how about we talk about your friendships-?"

"No!"

Patrick jumped a little in his seat, startled by Tom's sudden loud outburst. He stared at the Britt, wide eyed and blinked. Tom quickly composed himself, clearing his throat. "I, uh, sorry about that, it's just-" Tom kept stammering, taking a deep breath before continuing. "I am not comfortable discussing this now. Maybe a different day, but right now I am feeling tired after the whole ordeal with Tord and whatnot; if you don't mind."

Tom explained his reasoning, and for the most part, it is true. His head and back are still aching from being thrown around like a ragdoll by Tord, his left eye stings and Tom presumed it was at least slightly purple by this point; and not to mention his incredibly sore throat from being nearly choked to death. Thankfully, the healthy drink Pat gave him certainly helped soothe his aching throat somewhat, but he could still feel the tight clutch of the metal collar around his neck.

Tom felt immense relief overflow him when Patrick nodded in agreement. "I understand. Then I shall mark our next appointment for same day and time next week. What do you say?" He inquired, earning a nod in response from Tom. "Splendid! Though, I do hope you learned your lesson about messing with Tord. You know now he is not to be trifled with, and you're lucky to be living now after pulling that dangerous stunt with him."

Tom sniffed, but didn't reply to his remark. _Lucky isn't exactly the word i would use._ His stubborn side is defeated, and he might as well just accept things the way they are without complaint. Easier said than done, especially when he has no trouble accepting the facts when it's Patrick talking to him; but with Tord it would be a completely different story altogether. However, for now he wasn't too keen in getting another beating so soon; even if the pain did help him come with terms with his problems.

Tom was brought out of his thoughts by Patrick's loud clasp of his hands, as the Polish man got up from his leather seat, putting the tablet aside and stretching out his arms lazily; yawning. "Then we are wrapped up for today!"

"So, what happens now?"

"You are probably very tired by now, after everything you been through today; it's been quite eventful, I admit!" Pat commented, putting away his glasses back into his pocket. "So I will be escorting you back to your quarters, but we will have a quick stop by the lab office on the way. I need to take a few more samples from your blood, if that's alright with you."

Tom shrugged with indifference. "Fine by me, I guess." Suddenly, Tom's vision started to blur. An immense pain filled his skull and made his jaw clench. Tom moaned in pain and gripped his head, feeling light headed, swaying from side to side.

Patrick observed him with concern. "Thomas, are you feeling well?" He noted the ill look on his face, skin shade turning a sickly pale colour and Tom looked as if he were about to fall over on his feet and face plant into the carpeted floor.

Tom tried to turn around and look at him, but the dizziness only grew more intense. He moaned out a few more incomprehensible words before he fell over on his back with a loud, heavy thud, eyes shut. "Tom!" Patrick immediately rushed to his side, crouching down next to him. He grabbed his wrist to check for the pulse when he stopped and took a closer look at it. Tom's wrist is completely lacerated, with deep reddish-purple bruises all over it. The scratches even stretched out to his arms, and possibly even more along his body. Patrick was shocked to say the least. _What kind of horrors has he been put through?_ Shaking the thought aside, Patrick focused his attention to the current task at hand. He placed two of his fingers between the bone and the tendon on Tom's wrist; breathing a sigh of relief when he found a faint pulse.

Tom moaned again, seemingly in agony. Patrick looked up and placed the palm of his hand over the Britt's forehead. He felt a distinct heat that certainly wasn't there before, but it was still imperceptible. _A fever perhaps?_ But it was so spontaneous and sudden, without any signs beforehand that it seemed very strange. Tom wasn't displaying any forms of sickness prior, or during their session. They will have to observe him up close. Patrick quickly took out his communicator from his back pocket, pressing in the call.

"Patrick to red leader, test subject #1826 is down! I repeat, test subject #1826 is down!"


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As leader of the Red Army, Tord has many things in his agenda.

A storm raged on a dark, cold night.

Lightning flashed the clouds, and thunder soon followed with a booming roar. Heavy rain poured down upon the town, and the wind howled so strongly it swept everything away in its path. The streets were empty, with a few occasional cars running up and down the road, and the light poles dimly illuminating the way. With the ravaging storm, no one dared leave the safety and comfort of their homes, especially in such late hour.

All, but one.

A solitary figure trekked along the sidewalk, soaking wet and freezing cold. Hunched over and arms crossed over his chest, shivering as the strong, cold wind blew against his soaking wet form. Most would've hurried back home in this condition. But not him. He pressed on, looking around the streets wearily.

He waited hours on end back home for his companion to cease knocking, and calling out to him through his door, just so he could leave. Now his companion was fast asleep back in their apartment, blissfully unaware of his nightly outings. At least he thinks so. They haven't seen each other since they got the news-

Another shiver racked his body and the man sneezed, nose running. Using the sleeve of his hoodie to wipe the snot away, he kept on going.

He peeked into dark alleyways, and looked all around the streets; as if searching for something. Weary narrowed eyes squinting against the shadows, trying to make out any shapes within. When his eyes found nothing, he decided to move on. A loud clatter of a garbage can that fell over made the man jump, startled. He peeked back into the dark alley. A shape moved around. Hope filled the man's heart.

"Tom?!"

Lightning struck again and lit up the place, revealing the mysterious shape hidden in the alleyway as a black cat with a bristling pelt. It jumped and hissed, startled by the storm. It quickly scampered away back into the shadows.

The man looked down in disappointment. Sadness and guilt consuming him.

"Oh Tom… where did you go?"

With a tired sigh, he carried on with his hopeless search.

**(Meanwhile…)**

The door slid open with a slight hiss, and walked in the stoic figure of the Red leader himself. His face expressionless as he entered the small, simple quarters, of his present test subject. The door slid shut behind him as he took over the scene.

Tom lied in slumber on his bed. The slow rise and fall of his chest as he snored softly indicated the deep sleep stage the Brit is under. A bit of drool seeped down from the side of his mouth, staining the pillow. Tom's usual spiky, and messy brown locks are a bigger mess than usual; containing a serious case of bedhead.

All in all, nothing too out of ordinary as of late.

It has been a couple of days since Tom passed out unexpectedly. When Patrick alerted him of what took place, Tord had felt his heart come to an abrupt stop. Despite their fight and still being angry at the Brit for openly defying him, Tord still couldn't afford to lose Tom. He is too valuable for his research; his army. His plans. And so, the Norsk had found himself racing through his base's long corridors, all the way from his office to the labs belowground, as fast as his legs could carry him, to evaluate the situation as quickly as possible.

Poor Paul. The devoted soldier tried to keep up with his pace at the time, only to come close to passing out as well.

Tord, cooled down from his earlier struggle with his test subject, but now worried and anxious for his wellbeing; quickly got to work. He checked Tom's vitals through the connection of the implanted chip and his robotic arm, but it showed nothing out of ordinary. After doing a thoroughly check-up, they came up with no definitive answers. They proposed a theory for this sudden occurrence.

Tom, from what they have observed so far, hasn't been in the greatest of conditions. Malnourished, bruised, addicted, and even more prone to violence; clearly something is up with him. They theorized that the recent events; with the whole drugging, kidnapping, testing, and… "discipline", put Tom under a lot of stress which caused his body to shut down. Makes sense, considering that since Tom arrived in the facility the only sleep he got was forcefully induced upon him. But they will just have to wait and see when he wakes up to get any proper answers.

Tord continued to stare down at Tom's sleeping form. His one-eyed gaze wavered down to his heavily, bandaged arms.

When he came in to analyse Tom's condition at the time, he was rather shocked to see the full state that he was in. Various bruises and cuts decorating the Brit's pale skin, extending from the arms to the torso. He was somewhat baffled for missing such a detail when he first removed the man's hoodie; and looking back at it now, Tom's defensive behaviour made sense at the time.

He was trying to keep them from seeing the wounds.

Tord let out a low chuckle. Tom is far too proud for his own good. Even at his lowest, the eyeless man refused to give up or show any form of weakness in front of him. His stubborn attitude surely made things interesting. Too bad it also makes his progress go at a lower rate than he would've wanted.

In his mind, things seemed a lot easier:

Kidnap Tom?

Check!

Bargain with him to become his "willing" test subject?

Check!

Experiment on him?

Unfortunately, this is the stage where their entire progress halted.

Everything was going exactly as he had planned, until they realized the malnourished state the eyeless man is in. This called for a special process, and a slow development. And now they find out he is decorated entirely out of bruises and cuts. This was the last straw. Tord wasted almost nine years working on this experiment, to fail time, and time again; at this point he can no longer afford to waste any more time.

They need results.

Tord's gaze narrowed down at Tom, still blissfully asleep in his bed.

They need the serum to be ready, now.

The door behind him hissed open once more.

The Red leader did not turn around, already knowing who it is. Patrick walked into the room, carrying a small tray which contained a special ointment, fresh bandages, and an IV bag. He barely acknowledged Tord's presence in the room as he set to work straight away. Carefully, Pat began to unwrap the bandages around Tom's arms. Tord watched the procedure in silence, deep in his thoughts.

_Dam. Tom is way too out of it and unfit for the experiments._ He realized, observing the process. _Considering his state, we'll have to wait for a complete recovery before the serum tests can begin._ Speaking of which; the thought reminded him that he needs to speak with his supplier about a new shipment of chemicals for his experiment. Good thing he already scheduled a meeting with them for this afternoon.

He snapped out of it when Tom uttered a low sigh as Patrick gently applied the ointment to his sensitive, bruised skin. But he still did not stir, flinch, or gave any indication that he might wake up. The Polish soldier carefully resumed with the treatment.

The sight reminded Tord of a small detail he forgot to ask before.

"How did the appointment go?" The Norsk spoke up. His metal hand pressed against his cheek, as his other arm supported beneath it.

Patrick just gave him a quick side-glance. "It was fine."

"Did he behave accordingly?" Tord prompted with clear interest. "I can just imagine the hard time you must've had to get this brute lunatic to ta-"

"Oh no! Quite the opposite, actually!" Patrick exclaimed, interrupting his leader's rant. "I mean, I admit that at first he refused to cooperate. But considering what he's been through, I can't really blame him." You could just make out the invisible outline of a smirk in his voice, as he shot another glance at the Norsk. "But after I complied with his demands he was much more open."

"Demands?!"

Tord stared at his soldier, utterly flabbergasted at what he has just heard. His straight posture deflated at his words. A sharp and quick pain pierced the side of his gut; it came and went by so fast he would've missed the feeling completely if it weren't for the sudden emptiness surging inside him. _What is this that I am feeling?_ He wondered silently. The emptiness was being quickly replaced with a more familiar sensation. Anger. _But why?_ Tord couldn't quite figure out the meaning or reason for this. Even stranger was the fact that this anger was being targeted directly at Patrick.

Tord pushed down the unneeded anger, though not without some amount of effort on his part.

"Well, I suppose the only proper way to get anything out of Thomas is by bargaining." Tord coolly commented with a shrug, trying to ignore the tingling sensation within him. "Did he reveal anything of interest to you? Any information that we might benefit from?" He waited expectantly, the uncomfortable sensation still pricking him. But his confusion grew as his excitement dwindle when Patrick had not uttered a single word in response.

Tord frowned.

"Are you purposefully ignoring me?" He prompted, a hint of warning in his voice.

"Absolutely not, sir." Pat replied, lacing new bandages over Tom's arms with careful precision. "I am just not allowed to disclose any personal information my patient entrusts me with to anyone else."

A long silence echoed in the room. The only thing remotely audible was Tom's soft snoring.

"What?"

Patrick paid him no mind. As soon as he was done changing Tom's bandages, he moved to replace the nearly empty IV bag with a new one. He is well aware of the imminent danger that loomed over him, but remained calm in the face of the situation.

Tord, on the other hand, was fuming and trying very hard to keep his proper posture and anger at bay.

"That was the terms of our agreement, sir." Patrick continued. "He shares anything he wants with me, and in return I cannot disclose anything said to you or anyone else for that matter."

Tord lost his cool now.

"Excuse me? Since when does Thomas have any sort of power in this base? I don't remember ever granting him any." He argued indignantly, casting a narrowed eyed glare in Tom's direction. "Second, I am your leader, not him. This is my facility. My base. My army! And you are supposed to obey every order I give out." He turned his glare back to Patrick, who finished placing the new IV bag in place, and calmly turned around to face him. "In fact, you have been acting out quite a lot recently. Continue with this behaviour, Patrick, and I just might demote you. Or worse."

The Polish soldier kept his face expressionless, seemingly unfazed by his leader's threat. He simply folded his arms behind his back, and kept their gazes locked. He chose his next set of words carefully. He's stepping in thin ice right now, and one wrong move could result in a lot of trouble. Trusted soldier or not, Patrick isn't foolish enough to put it past Tord when it came to his threats.

"Sir, I assure you that all my actions thus far have been for the better benefit of the red army. It may not have been what you ordered, or the way you wanted, but I'm still very much loyal." Patrick stated coolly. "As my leader, I trust your judgment. However, with all due respect, when your anger gets the better of you, your mind tends to get a little clouded and loses all reasoning." Though not directly mentioning, he was clearly referring to the most recent incident between his leader and their test subject. "What's the use in warning him not to mess with you, when you keep aggravating him?"

Tord's mouth hanged open in disbelief. "I aggravated him?" He echoed, still not grasping the concept. "He attacked me!"

"Only because you wouldn't back off him." Patrick countered. His expression softened as he let out a tired sigh. "Sir, I know you two share a history of animosity. From what you told Paul and I about your experiences prior to creating the red army, it's clear you two despise each other. We get it." He stated solemnly. "But for this to work out, we're going to need the two of you to cooperate with each other's standards. Thomas will obey as long as you give him some space and freedom; otherwise he will just continue to retaliate against you. Yes, your threat over his friends lives still poses, but when it comes down to rivalry and pure anger, reason doesn't have much space to work with." He stared at Tord with an enigmatic expression. "You know that better than anyone else, don't you sir?"

Tord clenched his teeth and straightened his jaw. God, he hated when Patrick was being a smart-ass. Especially because he was always right. No matter how angry Tord could get at him, he values his wisdom way too much to foolishly ignore it for the sake of his pride. He cast another quick side-glance at Tom, still peacefully asleep and unawares of their conversation.

"As always Pat, you're right." Tord admitted, immediately feeling his heart feeling the crushing defeat. _Ouch, my pride._ "I suppose i was being rather brash." He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "I will try to control myself around him in the future."

Patrick nodded, glad he managed to get through his leader without too much of a hassle. "By the way, sir. I thought best to remind you cause it's most likely you have forgotten it by now; that you are to leave, first thing in the morning."

"Huh? Why?"

Patrick clicked his tongue, having his assumption proved right. "Because sir, you are required to go to all of our existing bases and inspect their development. This may be your main base, but don't forget you have other ones to look after." He explained, finishing patching Tom up. He placed the palm of his hand over the Brit's forehead, feeling for fever.

Tord huffed in discontent, placing both his arms on his hips. "Well then what's the use in appointing Lieutenants to lead your multiple bases if I still have to look after them? Seems rather pointless if I say so myself."

Patrick sighed, still very much patient. "Like you said, it's your army and they are just your Lieutenants. Do you really trust them enough to lead things all on their own without your consent or knowledge?" He pointed out. "What if they're leadership skills are lacking and something goes amiss?"

"They should know better than to displease me by now, Pat." He flexed his robotic arm, bringing his organic one up to crack his own knuckles against the metal. "Otherwise I wouldn't have named them so in the first place; much less leave them in charge of my bases."

Patrick placed a wet cloth over Tom's forehead, to try and bring the fever down. Tom moaned at the contact but did nothing more than that. "Besides, with Thomas's current condition he will be out of commission for a while. So the serum experiments will definitely be put into a halt until he improves." He states, looking up at Tord. "Until then, you can be quite busy with your other army related activities while Paul and I work to set him straight."

Tord glanced at Tom, taking note of his patched bruises, bone thin figure, and pale skin. His shoulders sagged in defeat.

Patrick: 2. Tord: 0.

The polish soldier took note of his posture, and although he did not let it show openly, he did have a little smirk of victory. "Honestly sir, where would you be without Paul or I?"

_Most likely dead._ His mind replied dryly. _Preferably in the wreckage remains of my failure._

Tord yawned and stretched his arms over his head. "Yeah, yeah. I'll be heading up now." He informed, turning away to leave the room. "Notify me right away if there's a change to his condition."

"Yes, sir."

The door hisses open and he walks out of the quarters. In quick strides, Tord walks through the immense corridors of his laboratory. The shiny marble tiled floor and walls gleaming his reflection back at him wherever he goes. The cobalt blue coat of his uniform is only half-done, letting free the vision of his red hoodie underneath.

With only the heavy footsteps of his boots against the marble floor, he marched towards the elevator and went up, pressing the -4 button.

The elevator ride was quiet, despite the constant humming of the lift as it went upwards. Tord leaned back into the mirror wall surface, his hands grabbing the handles behind him with a sigh of content. His shoulders slump as the tension left him. He idly ran one of his hands through his hair, looking at the ground before his gaze fell on his prosthetic arm. A small frown made into his facial features as he continued to stare at it.

He flexed his robotic fingers.

It's been a year since the incident and the amputation, and yet, he still isn't used to the new arm. Sure, he has made a lot of improvements to it, and he certainly likes the feeling of power it brings him. He loves especially when he sees the fear in the eyes of his newer soldiers the first time they see his arm. However, it seems no matter how long it passes, the arm was still a stranger to him.

He turned his hand over.

It was… Funny. The new arm is a part of him now. But it will never be him. At least, not in the way that it was meant to be.

Tord slowly rose his hand up to touch his scarred cheek. He could feel the cold, metallic surface against his permanently damaged face. But his hand could not feel the scars and burns along his flesh. He closed his eyes; painful memories from that terrible day began to resurge.

Being rushed to the infirmary on a stretcher. Blood gushing down his arm. Paul and Patrick's panicked and horrified faces.

His doctors, practically all of them, analysed his case but it was hopeless. He had to cut it off. He already knew this was going to be the outcome. That's why he took the robotic arm from the wreckage. It doesn't take an expert to know that his arm was beyond salvageable. He went on with the procedure. Paul and Patrick assisting him with hesitance for what he was about to submit himself to.

Tord took a shaky deep breath at his next memory.

He had failed his mission. He had only one objective; to infiltrate the home, take the robot, and fly back to the base for his plans to commence. But he failed. If any of his soldiers were to fail their mission, he would punish them. He is their leader. He should be setting up an example for them. That failure isn't an option. If he can't do that, what kind of leader would he be? No. He failed his mission, and he deserves a punishment.

That's what he told himself; when he ordered his doctors to cut his arm off without giving him an anaesthetic.

Everyone was horrified by his orders. Paul and Patrick tried to plead for him to reconsider, and not put himself through the pain that he was about to subject himself to. Tord figured he already suffered the worst. He went on with it anyway.

All he remembers next was putting a cloth in his mouth to bite down, and Paul and Pat holding him down as the doctor got closer. Then there was an agonizing pain. His bloodcurdling screams muffled by the rag. Tears welled up in his eyes. Trashing around the surgical table. The horrible snap and crunch from his bone. He nearly passed out after that, as his vision blurred with the shock and blood loss. He closed his eyes for one second, and when he opened them again; his arm had already been replaced.

Sure, it wasn't the same arm back then. It was only a prototype for him to use until he could fix the one he is currently using now. But still, the memory haunts him just as much as the confrontation with his former friends.

Tord dropped his arm back to his side, releasing another sigh. The elevator ride was short, just going up one level; and yet it was feeling like an eternity.

Alas, the elevator ringed and the doors opened as he finally reached his desired level. Tord recomposed himself, pushing all his dark thoughts away, and plastered a confident smirk on his face as he strolled out.

The sight of his soldiers greeted him. They were walking through the hallways, chatting with one another; most likely heading for training. They cheerfully greeted and saluted him as he passed by, and he returned the gesture.

"Good morning, sir!"

"Morning, sir!"

"Hello, sir!"

"How's the morning, sir?"

Tord raised his head with pride, acknowledging their presence with a curt nod and a small smile. The soldiers who have been in the army the longest have grown used to their leader's presence enough to feel at ease, and still hold respect for him. The recruits always tend to cower away in their first time meeting him face to face. But overtime they grow to trust and respect his authority rather than fear it. But of course, he still occasionally makes sure to let it be known for all members in the army; his power is not to be tested. He is a just and merciful leader, but he won't hesitate to teach a lesson to those who defy him.

"Excuse me-! Red leader, sir!"

A young woman hurried over to his side, falling in step with his quick strides. The soldier wore their trademark red and blue army uniform, with her name 'Scarlett' written on the tag, huge round glasses, and she carried a couple of folders with her. Her red mahogany hair was tied in a messy bun, with two strands of hair flowing elegantly alongside her face.

Tord glanced at her with a tilt of his head, prompting her to speak. "I thought I would let you know of your schedule for today." She stated, pulling out her notebook and pen from her pockets. "Not that I am complaining about you sir, but you did leave me in a wild goose chase earlier. Looking all over the base for you!"

Tord chuckled. "My apologies, I was quite busy this morning down at the labs. You know how it is."

She pushed up her glasses, looking at him with a slight frown; clearing her throat before speaking. "Well, Commander Paul requested your presence in the training hall. He would like you to evaluate the progress of our newest batch of recruits. Then I suggest you head over to the conference room for the meeting you scheduled with the army's supplier immediately after. You know he doesn't like to be kept waiting." She advised, throwing him a narrowed glance.

Tord shrugged but nodded regardless. "Affirmative." He smiled.

"Then you have weapons inspection, scheduling the cafeteria's menu for next month…"

"Nah, clear the rest of my afternoon for me." Tord cut her off, waving his hand in a careless manner. "I'm going down to the labs again after the meeting. Have one of the lieutenants go in my place instead."

The girl groaned in exasperation. "Sir, this is the 5th time this week you ask me to clear your schedule from all your other activities." She stated. "At this rate, I'm gonna run out of things to say to the soldiers!"

"I am confident you can handle this task; otherwise I wouldn't have appointed you so." Usually it was Patrick who dealt with Tord's daily agenda. But since he was too busy looking after Tom, as well with his other duties, Tord needed another secretary and thus he appointed Scarlett for the job. She's not a soldier, although she is battle trained. She's in charge of keeping track over the army's archives, records, and files down at the library; and is infamously known for being very well organized. So clearly, she was the ideal choice for the job. Though he was quick to figure out she doesn't deal well under pressure.

Scarlett sighed, scribbling rapidly on her notepad. "Very well, sir." She bowed her head and left his side, presumably heading back to her office in the base's library.

After she left him, Tord continued down the path of the long, fancy hallways. Taking turns; left, right, going up a few flights of stairs. It would've have been easy to just take the elevator up to the level he was heading to. But Tord likes to stroll around his base whenever he could, make sure everything is in order, and admire the secret empire he so expertly constructed beneath the very foundations of his home land.

Pride swelled in his heart at the thought. His army has grown exponentially since he first founded it. The number of new recruits have diminished as time went by, but that did not bother him. His army is large enough as it is. It's only a matter of time now for the red army to rise above ground and begin their reign over the entire world. Once he finally gets his desired result with the serum experiments, only then he will put Tom to some good use. And to think, that his "former friend" is going to aid him in his quest. The notion itself made Tord immensely happy.

Before he knew it, Tord arrived in the training hall. The glass doors sliding open with a 'swush' and he strolled in. The polished floor gleamed with the reflection of the lights. Various equipments displayed on both sides. And in the centre of the room, where a large area is cushioned with blue mats, a line of soldiers is standing in a straight posture and staring straight ahead of them at the wall.

They hadn't notice their leader's presence in the room yet, due to them facing away from where he is. Not to mention the fact that they were too busy focusing on their Commander walking along the line, facing each one as he addressed them all.

"Three months ago, you came to us and joined our ranks. You have all trained very hard since then." Paul spoke, looking at each soldier as he stepped by them. "However, by no means does this give you the right to slack off. You still have a long way to go before you move up the rank from private to soldier."

He halted his movements, fully turning to face them. "We're gonna have a little test today. Remember, this may not be your final assessment yet, but I will still judge your improvement and skill just as seriously." He stated, shifting his calculating gaze over the privates.

Tord had to clasp a hand over his mouth to muffle his chuckles. Paul sure knows how to put up a good show. He watched the performance with keen interest.

"Your goal in this test is to pin me down, before I do the same to you." Paul announced, observing the trainees for a reaction out of them. They gave nothing away. He gave a curt nod of approval. "If you succeed; then congratulations! You get the highest mark. If I pin you down though, you'll fail, and I will give a score to your performance." Paul walked ahead of them, turning his back to the privates as he faced the wall with hands clasped behind his back. His steps even. "Now. Who would like to go first?"

Without the hesitation of a moment's heartbeat, one of the privates broke away from the line and rushed at Paul while he had his back turned. The dark-haired man threw a punch his way, but Paul, already experienced with training privates over the years in the army, had expected the move coming from a mile away. He side stepped at the very last second, catching the private off-guard instead of the other way around. Paul then grabbed the man's other arm, kicked out his legs to make him stumble, but before he could fall over on himself; Paul hurled him backwards clean over his head and threw him down onto the mat.

The private groaned in pain as his back slammed down hard on the cushioned floor. Paul held him down with one foot. "I like your initiative. However, that ain't gonna be enough to save your ass on a real battle." Paul commented, looking down at the man. "You have a lot to improve on. I'll give you a 2 out of 10." He pulled his foot away, letting the private up. The man quickly nodded and stepped away. "Who's next?"

A girl hurled herself at him, so fast she was barely just a blur. Paul swiped downwards, aiming for her head. She dodged at the last second, and jabbed him in the ribs and shoulder. Paul staggered back, letting out a low groan of pain before he grabbed one of the girl's arms as she went in for another jab, this time aimed for his face. He twisted her arm behind her back. In retaliation, the private kicked out with her legs against his knee, making him buckle under his own weight. He did not let go of her. Instead, he used the opportunity to switch their positions around as they fell, so that she was the one who lands on the mat instead of him.

"That's more like it!" Paul admired, brushing himself off the ground. "7 out of 10."

He was barely done with his sentence when he was jumped on by three different privates all at once. Tord shook his head, clicking his tongue. These privates were about to learn a lesson they weren't soon going to forget.

Paul made a grab for the nearest private, who had taken a hold of his arm, and was trying desperately to use his own weight to bring Paul down. The Red Army commander grabbed the private by the collar of his uniform and easily threw him off, hurling him against the other private; who had lunged at him only to get hit head-on by her own comrade. The remaining private had snuck up behind Paul and tried to take him by surprise by putting him in a headlock.

"Not bad." Paul commented with a grunt, a sly grin on his face. Suddenly he hurled backwards, slamming the back of his head against the private's face. A crunch was heard, and the private let go of Paul as he moaned in pain, and gripped his bleeding, and broken nose. However, Paul did not let up. He swiped one foot from beneath the private's feet, knocking him over; only to grab the man's arm and hurl him down against the other two knocked-out privates.

Paul spat on the ground, looking down at the pile of winded trainees with disdain. "Usually I would give a good scolding to those who try to team up to take me down." He commented, fixing his sleeves. "But you guys are barely worth the effort. 3 out of 10."

Before another private could step out of line for their turn, the sound of clapping got everyone's attention. Tord stepped out of the shadows, from where he was watching the whole thing, and made himself known. He applauded rather condescendingly. His robotic hand slowly coming down against his organic, gloved one.

"Well, well, well… That was quite the show." Red leader chuckled, approaching the group. He took in the privates looks of awe, shock, and apprehension at the sight of him. "However, I must say I am quite disappointed in the lacklustre performance of these recruits." He eyed the defeated bunch, letting his gaze waver over each one of them. They all bowed their heads and adverted their gaze away from him.

"In their defence, they had only three months of training so far and they were only shown mostly defensive moves." Paul shrugged, facing his leader. "Clearly they still have an awful lot to learn before they can become proper soldiers."

Tord grunted in agreement. "Indeed." He crossed his arms behind his back, straightening his posture as he strolled alongside the line; addressing the recruits with his authoritative figure. "I will admit. For recruits, you lot are brave to attack with no hesitation and with so little combat experience." He stated, his voice loud and clear. "But there's a fine line between bravery and recklessness. And bravery alone won't be enough to keep you alive in the battlefield." He stopped walking, and turned to face them. "You're gonna have to try a lot harder here on out. I expect nothing less than the very best of my soldiers. It's the least you can do for us, after taking you in and giving you lot a second chance. Do I make myself clear?"

"Sir, yes sir!" The privates saluted in unison.

Tord nodded in approval. "Dismissed."

The trainees didn't need to be told twice. They immediately scampered out the room, shooting weary glances at their leader along the way; whispering quietly to one another as they did so. Tord shot them a wicked smirk and a glare their way, and they were quick to flinch and leave the room.

Tord chuckled slightly at their reaction, shaking his head. "Hmph! Amateurs…" He scoffed, turning away and facing the commander. "Well, that was a waste of my time. Why bother bringing me here to witness this unexperienced display?" He questioned, earning a half-hearted shrug in response.

"Thought you needed to lighten up a bit. You have been spending way too much time down in the labs worrying over To- I mean, test subject #1826!" Paul answered, quickly recovering from his mistake. "You used to enjoy evaluating the privates' performance and training; especially if it gave you a chance to intimidate them out of their boots. What changed?"

Tord sighed, heading out the Training hall with Paul trailing behind him. "That was in the beginning! You know? When the army was small, we barely had anything, and any shred of development had my most immediate attention." He stated genuinely, glancing back at his Commander over his shoulder as he spoke. "But 9 years is a long time to get used to it, my friend. I have seen privates training time, and time again. Unless they have any special abilities I should know about, I don't see the point of looking into their development for myself anymore; with the exception being their final assessment." He explained, a feeling of nostalgia hitting him. They may have had their struggles keeping their base a secret and afloat at the start. But it sure made all the more joyous when things were improving. Although of course he is very proud of his army, he is a busy man with a tight schedule; Tord doesn't have time to keep observing his newest members training. "I have better things to do with my time."

"Like looking after Tom?"

Tord halted abruptly in his steps, nearly making Paul bump into him. He turned his head around stiffly, and shot Paul a dry glare. The red army commander looked skittish, and laughed nervously. "Ha ha. Very funny." Red leader scoffed sarcastically.

Tord said nothing more, before resuming his travel along the base. Paul followed, breathing a quick sigh of relief. "Uh, where we going?" He asks hesitantly.

"To the conference room." Tord replied. "I'm having a meeting with the army's supplier."

Paul groaned audibly at this. "I don't like those guys! They are way too shady for my books." He complained.

Tord rolled his one visible eye. "Like them or not, we need them. They have helped us plenty in the past, and they never disappointed with my demands." He explained calmly, as if reasoning with a child. "Sure, they may be rather annoying to deal with at times. But never anything too harmful!"

"I guess."

As the two of them walked along the army base's corridors together, other soldiers spotted them along the way. They greeted them with respect, and murmured quietly to each other while shooting glances their way.

"Ey boss!"

All soldiers, including Tord himself, froze at the sound of the heavy accented voice that came from somewhere far behind them. Simultaneously, the exact same thought flickered on their minds in response to it.

_Oh f#ck no._

"Sh#t."

"It's Reagan!"

Immediately, the soldiers, that were around him mere seconds ago with excitement; scattered into different directions as quickly as possible. Some of them were even pushing each other out of the way to leave faster. Tord inwardly winced and let out a long, exasperated sigh. He wished he could go with the others. But he has places to be, and a leader doesn't run away from anything. Even if it bothers him to no end.

He let out a long, resonant groan of aggravation; pinching the bridge of his nose. He braced himself for the migraine that was about to be bestowed upon him. One quick glance told him that Paul was not faring any better. His huge eyebrows are pointing down, and his face was a mixture of a permanent frown and a scowl. Whatever good mood he had with him after the assessment has completely vanished without a trace from his features.

Much like he anticipated, a hand clamped down hard on his shoulder. "Heyo! So nice to run into yah, boss!" The soldier laughed. "I've been trying to contact you for the longest time now, but you never picked up my calls!"

"Yes, well, I have been quite busy with my work Reagan." Tord muttered in disdain, finally turning around to face the obnoxious soldier.

The man in question was not much taller than Tord himself. Messy blonde hair, starkly bright green eyes, a stubble, and a seemingly permanent sh#t-eating grin always present on the Irish man's face. Reagan laughed at his comment, and placed an arm over Tord's shoulder to lean on. Tord mustered all his self-control not to push the man off.

Reagan glanced sideways and took notice of Paul's presence next to them. "Oh! Hey Paulie!~ " He greeted with a sickly-sweet voice. "How's Patty?"

Paul's fists clenched, and he glared at the Irish soldier. "Just fine!" He huffed, crossing his arms. Reagan giggled at his expression.

"Anyways, what can I help you with?" Tord questioned, taking Reagan's attention away from Paul, and back to himself. He had a feeling if Reagan kept pestering Paul, the red army commander might actually sock the officer right on the jaw. As pleasing as the notion would be, Tord doesn't want to lose the trust of his soldiers. Even ones as annoyingly irritating as Reagan.

The blonde soldier turned his gaze back Tord, with a large smile plastered on his face. "I was just looking to report the case of my latest mission, boss." He spoke, bringing himself with an air of smug confidence.

"Your partner, Officer Bennet, has already reported to me all the details of the mission." Tord answered with a lack of emotion in his voice, proceeding to shrug off the arm clinging around his shoulders and continue along his way.

Reagan did not seem bothered. "Speaking of witch, have you seen Benny-boy anywhere?" He asks, still following them. "Went off for a drink, he left without waiting, and now I can't find that son of a b#tch anywhere!"

Tord felt genuinely bad for Bennet. He is a good officer. Had given plenty of years of loyal service under the Red army. A reliable spy. He most definitely did not deserve to be paired up with Reagan. But someone had to. Reagan is wild, and out of control. Bennet is calm and reasonable; he can put Reagan in check. But Bennet can be kind of a push over with his kind nature, and he does not possess any trace of ambition or that much confidence in himself. Reagan is clever, sly, and cunning. He will use whatever means necessary to get what he wants.

Teaming up the two of them together was the obvious choice; they complement each other. However, the same thing was said about the other six soldiers Reagan had teamed up with in the past. And none of them turned out alright.

The Red leader sighed. "He gave me the mission report digitally, before personally meeting me in my office." He stated coolly. "He is currently away from any army related activities, in a 7-month licence."

Reagan blinked. "What's that mean?"

"It means, that he will be gone for seven months to care for his family and new-born child." Tord sighed patiently. Usually he wouldn't give such a long time for his soldiers, but again, Bennet was a good officer. Besides, god knows he needed a holiday break from Reagan.

Tord winced when the Irish soldier let out a loud gasp of shock. "What?! Benny-boy is married this whole time, and I never knew?" He echoed in disbelief, clinging onto Paul; who glared at him in return. "Blimme me! That sly dog! How come he never told me?!"

"Probably because he doesn't want you anywhere near his family." Paul grumbled under his breath. "Honestly, I don't blame him." If Reagan heard his comment, he paid no heed.

"Also, boss, is there any chance I can change my fake identity?" He requested, completely changing the subject. "I mean, Lenny? Seriously? That's just a plain dumb name! Doesn't exactly fit with me, you know?"

"I find it quite suitable, if I say so myself." Paul muttered.

Tord narrowed his eye. "You are in no position to make demands out of me, Reagan." He states, glancing back over his shoulder with a cold gleam in his eye. "If anything, you are lucky that I haven't thrown you out due to your delinquent behaviour."

Reagan chuckled, not the least bit intimidated by his leader's serious tone of voice. "By the way, boss, who was that creepy looking fella you ordered us to eliminate?" He asks, changing the subject yet again. "The poor bastard didn't even see what was coming to him, nor did he stand much of a chance against us. Must've been his freakish lack of eyes!"

Immediately, Tord knew who he was talking about. "That's classified information." He answered, feeling somewhat defensive on the subject. "But let's just say that he owed me one." He left it at that.

"Oohh! Cryptic!" Reagan echoed, clear interest showed in his mischievous green orbs as he fiddled with his hands. He then proceeded to laugh, clutching his sides. "Oh man, I just remembered the best part from the mission!" He wiped away a tear from his eye. "As if disposing that freak wasn't good enough by itself, delivering the news to his friends was a riot!"

Red leader's confident strides slowed down, until he was merely just walking. All noise was muted, focusing only in Reagan's voice.

"I wish I had a camera to film their reaction though. It's a real shame I didn't!" The Irish soldier went on with his retelling. Being as casual about it, as if he was merely speaking of his eventful day. "The look on their faces was priceless! We brought their hopes up, only to bring it down. Then we brought them up again, only to shatter them in a million pieces." He continued to laugh. Paul, who walked next to him, was shifting his gaze nervously back and forth between him and his leader. Dreading, but anticipating, the outburst to happen. "The guy in the green hoodie was specially devastated. He dropped his soda, and ran back inside his apartment; crying like a little baby! To be fair, the ginger guy wasn't faring any better. He was nearly bursting into tears himself when he sent us away."

"Is there anything important you might be leading up to with this information, Reagan?" Tord whipped around, and snapped through gritted teeth. His one eye blazed with fury, and Paul could see that he was barely holding his rage inside.

Reagan shrugged. "Not really. I just like to chat."

"Well, keep the details to yourself." Tord snarled, turning away with a scowl. "Unless I order it, I am not interest in them."

"Whatever you say, boss!"

Paul thought this was going to be the end of it. Reagan would take the hint, and scamper away to annoy somebody else. But this is Reagan. He never takes the hint that he might be taking it too far. And thus, he stuck around them for a little longer.

"Hey boss, I heard from some guys that the labs are off-limits." And by that, he literally means he eavesdrop on some people talking. Because no one in their right mind will ever associate themselves with him. "Is that true?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Tord was drastically losing his patience. He just wanted to get to the meeting, end it, and go back to his work. Was that too much to ask?

Remembering his anger-management exercises with Pat, he took a deep breath to control himself. "Because I ordered it so."

"Does it have something to do with the secret project you have been working on for so god dam long?" He pressed on, imminent interest in his voice.

Tord gave him a long-side glare. "That's classified information."

Reagan beamed. "But if I were to be promoted a rank up, would I get access to said information?"

The Red leader stopped abruptly in his path. _So that's what he is after!_ "Perhaps. But I don't see a reason why you should get promoted at all." He snaps, whipping around to face the man. Tord brought his robotic arm up, and began to tap into some buttons; bringing up a screen which showed a file. "In your four years of service to the Red army, you managed to break 18 out of the 26 rules. Push away all your previous designated partners. Constantly disobeys orders. Provokes fights between other soldiers. And you keep smuggling cigarettes from our canteen, time and time again; and never paid any of it." He read the file.

"Pfft! I would never!" Reagan scoffed, crossing his arms and looking away rather dramatically. "You got no proof!"

Tord smirked, tapping a few more buttons before inverting the screen. "This is footage from one of our CCTV cameras. That's you, isn't it?"

The video showed a soldier, clearly Reagan, walking by the canteen with both hands stuffed in his pockets. He looked around, checking to see if anybody was looking. He then grinned and proceeded to stuff his pockets full of cigarette packets from the stand before running off.

Reagan looked dumbfounded, while Paul snickered quietly next to them.

"That footage was tempered with." Reagan tried to argue. Tord raised one hand to silence him.

"Enough! That's proof enough to show me, that you aren't ready to become a sergeant." He turned around and walked away. Thinking he had the final word. But Reagan was not one to give up so easily.

"C'mon boss! Please! Give me a chance at least!" He practically begged, running up ahead of Tord and walking backwards as he just continued along his way. The Red leader paid no heed to him. "I am a changed man, I promise! Let me prove it to you!"

As the Officer continued to pester him, Tord felt his patience about to burst. From the corner of his vision, he spotted Paul looking upwards at the ceiling with a pleading look. He didn't need to read minds to tell that the Commander was silently praying for Reagan to go away. Tord couldn't blame him.

Reagan is… effective in the battlefield. But he can be reckless, and sometimes goes a little too far. If it weren't for other soldiers accompanying him on missions, there would never be any prisoners to interrogate. He is most definitely not to be trusted with tanks, planes, or any heavy machinery. One good trait that was evident about the man though, and really; the only reason the Irish man is still around in the first place, is his charisma and way with words.

He could manipulate people with extreme ease. In the beginning, when he first joined the army, Reagan would always charm-talk his way out of trouble. Maybe that was a bad thing to let happen. Now the man is too cocky for his own good, and is not afraid of authority. A thing Reagan is known to do as well; whenever there are new recruits in the army, he would manipulate and trick them into doing certain chores for him. That's why other soldiers are quick to advise the newbies to stay as far away from Reagan as possible, because the man is just trouble.

If only there was a way to use Reagan's abilities, benefit the army in some way, and get rid of him enough to stop bothering them-

A lightbulb lit up atop his head.

Tord halted, and a wide grin stretched along his face, as he slowly turned to face the Irish man. Paul raised an eyebrow at him in suspicion, but kept his mouth shut. He was keen to know what his leader has in mind.

"Reagan.~" Tord practically purred, as he placed his arm around the officer's shoulder. "I may have judged you too harshly, and for that, I am sorry. I think you are absolutely right in deserving a chance to prove yourself."

"Really?" Both the man in question and Paul gasped simultaneously.

Tord nodded. "I am going to give you a very especial task." He went on, words dripping with honey as he grinned through half-lidded eyes. "It shouldn't be much of a hassle for you anyways. After all, with that silver tongue of yours, this should be a walk in the park for you."

"Well, what is it?" Reagan prompted eagerly.

Tord clasped his hands over the man's shoulders, turning him so that they were facing each other. "Reagan, I want you to take part in this year's recruitment program."

"The recruitment program?"

"Yes."

Reagan was rather amazed at this sudden turn of events, though he was not complaining. Another quick look in Paul's direction, told Tord that his commander did not agree with his decision. He was shaking his head, and raised his hands; shaking them as well to signal that this may not be the greatest idea.

"Why the recruitment program though?" Reagan questioned.

"Because, I think this task will put your talents to better use for the good-will of the army." Tord explained smoothly. "Tell you what; if you can successfully find, and convince five new members into joining the army as new recruits, then I might consider promoting you to sergeant."

Reagan tapped his chin, and hummed deep in thought. "Will I get my very own private quarters?"

"Anywhere you want!" Tord nodded, still grinning widely.

"Access to the premium selection on the cafeteria menu?"

"Of course!"

"A different name for my fake ID?"

"I don't see why not?!"

"Granted access to the super-secret project down in the labs?"

Tord's whole façade nearly shattered at this; it took all his self-control to keep it up. His smile faltered for a millisecond, and his eye twitched. He resisted the urge to choke the Irish man where he stood, and continued to hold his charade. Just barely though.

"Well, let's not get ahead of ourselves." He chuckled forcefully. "But who knows? Anything can happen!"

Reagan smirked triumphantly. Paul, at this point, was just staring at the ground in dismay; still shaking his head.

"Alright boss, I'll take on the task." The blonde officer agreed, brushing the invisible dust off his shoulders in a stuck-up manner. "Just you wait and see; when I come back with the army's five newest members, you'll finally see the competent soldier that I truly am."

"I expect no less from you." Tord stepped back, folding his hands behind his back.

"See yah around, boss!" Reagan raised two fingers to his forehead, giving a little salute of farewell before walking away in the opposite direction.

Tord waved his robotic fingers, his jaw clenched so hard his teeth might shatter. When the blonde soldier turned the corner, and disappeared out of sight, both the red army commander and the leader breathed out a sigh of relief. Their shoulders slumped; both feeling absolutely drained from the experience.

"He's gone at last." Tord breathed, his anger slowly dissipating. He pressed a button on his robotic arm, and opened a compartment containing aspirin. He gave one pill to Paul, and one for himself.

Paul side-glanced at him in concern. "Sir, please tell me you didn't mean anything of what you said to him." He asked pleadingly.

Tord shrugged. "To be fair, most of what I said was just to get rid of him. He was getting on my nerves." He replied truthfully. "But with that said, at this point I am just giving him the benefit of the doubt."

"By putting him in the recruitment program?" Paul crossed his arms, raising one of his bushy eyebrows questioningly. "Was that really such a bright idea?"

Tord sighed tiredly. "Yeah, I know. Kind of risky, I admit." He raised one finger. "But, at least we'll be rid of him for a while until he completes his mission. And get new members for the army as a bonus!"

"I don't know sir, Reagan is very impulsive. Not to mention that the recruitment program is a very delicate operation. One wrong move on his part could jeopardize everything we build over the years!" Paul pointed out worriedly.

"Do you think I hadn't thought of that?" Tord demanded, narrowing his eye. "Yes, I am well aware of the risk. But I don't think we'll have to concern ourselves with it." He stretched his arms, re-focusing his mind to his goal and continuing along the path he was originally going. "Reagan may be plenty of things, but he is far from stupid. He knows better than to speak about the army so openly in public." He reasoned, glancing over his shoulder to see his Commander trailing behind him. "Honestly, I don't know why I haven't thought of this idea sooner. It's perfect for a person with Reagan's capabilities!"

"I don't think I quite follow…" Paul murmured in confusion, tilting his head.

"Isn't it obvious? Reagan's biggest trait, aside from his constant nagging and rather annoying personality, is his manipulation skills." Tord explained. "The recruitment program is all about sending our best socially skilled soldiers out into the world, and convince potential recruits into joining us. This is our chance to finally put Reagan to good use!"

Paul was silent, making sense of his leader's idea. "I guess that could work…" He trailed off hesitantly. "But, doesn't it take months, possibly more than a year, just to target and prey one person and convince them to join us?"

"Precisely.~" Tord smirked mischievously, chuckling under his breath.

Understanding suddenly dawned on Paul and he reared back in realization. "Oh. Oh! Sir, that was ingenious!"

"Why, thank you!" Tord laughed, giving a mock bow in return with a smug grin.

"To be honest, you should've done it sooner." Paul added, laughing slightly before his expression turned to worry once more. "But you're not seriously going to promote him if he does succeed, right?"

"A leader always keeps his word. But thankfully I only said that i might, _MIGHT_ , consider in granting him the promotion. Never said I would indubitably! So there's that." He reasoned with a confident smirk. "But like hell am I ever going to grant him access to my project, or clearance to the lab! Last thing I need is him meddling in places that he shouldn't."

The mere idea of Reagan being involved made Tord feel noxious. As if he doesn't have enough trouble as it is with Tom alone. A drifting thought made itself known in his mind; a possibility that made his spine tingle in all the wrong ways. Tom and Reagan in the exact same room. A shudder ran down his spine at the scenario. That's a recipe for disaster, if he'd ever seen one. One pisses him off to no end, to the point of wanting to rip the hair out of his scalp. The other is Reagan.

No. Just… no.

Before he realized, they finally arrived in front of the huge double doors to the conference room. The doors so huge, it reached the ceiling.

Pushing one of the heavy doors, Tord and Paul slid inside, making sure to shut it behind them. The room was huge, yet, filled with an empty space. There were no lights, but only the flickering static of the huge screen that covered the opposite wall illuminated the room. In the centre, there is a small platform raised a few steps above the ground, and on top of it there is a throne with two control panels on either side of it's arms.

Tord walked up the steps and sat down on the tall, comfortable seat; immediately set to work, and typing the commands into the control panels. Meanwhile, Paul stepped ahead of the platform. He began to fiddle with the camera that was positioned directly in front of the throne.

"Is everything ready?" Tord questions.

Paul gave a thumbs up, flicking the camera on. "Yes, sir!

Tord nodded. Paul quickly made his way to stand by the Red leader's throne; crossing his arms and with a straight posture.

"Starting the call… Now!"

He pressed the switch, and the large screen ahead of them flickered to call sign. Tord sat back in his throne, placing both hands beneath his chin intently, as he patiently waited for his ally to pick up the call.

At last, the screen changed, as the call was finally answered.

"Ah! Red leader! It's been a while since our last negotiation."

The screen switched, and showed two men. One of them, the one who spoke; is a man with dishevelled brown hair, white shirt, and brown eyes. Standing just behind him, is his assistant. A man with dirty blonde hair, wearing a tuxedo, and one of his eyes is covered up by an eyepatch.

"Indeed it has, Mr. Bing." Tord replied smoothly.

"To what may I owe you this pleasure?" The mad director questioned, leaning back on his reclining chair. "Is it the usual order, I assume?"

Tord clasped his hands together. "It is. But that is not the only reason for this call." He announced, deciding to be direct and not beat around the bush any longer. "Along with the next shipment, I would like to request a barrel of the "purple stuff" as well."

"Oh? You're still on that silly project, boy?" Bing prompted, leaning his head against his hand rather tiredly. "Let me guess; the last barrel I sent you went down the drain along with your failed attempts?"

Tord's eye twitched in annoyance at being called a boy. Paul uttered a low growl next to him, glaring directly at the screen. But Tord made a subtle sign for him to step down, and not do anything rash.

Tord masked his irritation with an amused laugh. "I am not one to give up so easily, my friend." He stated, tapping his fingers along the arms of the throne. "And this time, I had a breakthrough in my research. I am close to my goals, and I won't stop now for anything."

"Whatever you say, Red." Bing shrugged, seemingly disinterested. "However, I don't have to remind you the cost for getting you one of those things. This chemical stuff is really hard to obtain. Especially after the incident with the plane crash, the chemical spill, and the short zombie apocalypse you managed to cause."

"I am well aware." As he spoke, Tord sent a glare towards his commander through the corner of his eye. Paul smiled and rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "What is it you want in return this time, Bing?"

At that, the evil director hummed, deep in thought. "You wouldn't happen to have an anti-gravity device or a shrinking gun, would you?"

Paul and Tord exchanged an uneasy glance. "We have a prototype of a shrinking laser… But nothing like an anti-gravity device..."

**(Time skip)**

Darkness seemed to have consumed his vision. He's been in the dark for so long. But how long? There wasn't a sense of time in this place. Not that he could tell. It was a familiar feeling though, but not one that he was glad to welcome. Hisses and whispering voices echoed in the distance, but he couldn't make them out.

_I want to get out of here!_

He felt like he was eternally falling.

No. Worse.

He felt like he was drowning. It was suffocating. It's dark. His movements were sluggish and slow. The sensation was very much like he was cast into the ocean with a cinderblock chained to his ankles; dragging him down to the bottom. And no matter how much he flailed and struggled, he couldn't get free. He was stuck in the darkness, just staring upwards at absolutely nothing as if he anticipated something to come out, grab him, and pull him out of the eternal dark abyss that he has fallen into.

But he has seen this before. No one ever comes. _Why should they?_

After a while of struggle, he would just lean back in defeat and let himself drift further down; staring ahead of him numbly.

It's for the best, anyway.

He would simply close his eyes and drift aimlessly until this was over. Sometimes he would get flashes of events happening somewhere else. But this time, there was none of that. It was rather strange, but he was not complaining. It's a welcomed change. Now he wasn't disturbed with the guilt anymore. Despite the choking feeling, he wouldn't mind keep floating in the dark for the rest of his miserable existence.

It's what he deserves.

Unexpectedly though, the fuzzy pressure on his head began to uncurl, and the choking sensation he felt previously lifted away. He knew what it meant. He was gaining back consciousness! Dread filled the pit of his stomach. What would he find outside?

A bright bean of light flash down from above him. He refused to look. He did not want to know what awaited him on the other side. But the light began to brighten, more and more, until even with his eyes closed he felt blinded.

Tom finally opened his eyes. Slowly, and he squinted them against the bright light shining above him. He raised one hand to block out the brightness from his dark sockets. Although his vision was blurry at the start, it progressively got used to its surroundings; enough for him to realize he was in his room.

No. Not his room. His quarters in the red army base, deep underground, somewhere in Norway. That's right.

He heard a soft snore next to him. Blinking sluggishly, he turned to look and noticed the other presence in the room. The Red leader is seated in a chair next to his bed, though he wasn't conscious. His scarred cheek was pressed against his robotic palm that rested on one of the chair's arms, leaning sideways, as he slept.

Tom's breath hitched at the unexpected sight, but he was quick to slap a hand over his mouth to cease making any noise that might arouse the Norsk from his slumber. His gaze wandered his sleeping form, watching the steady rise and fall of Tord's chest. It was a rather unusual sight to see, but he had to admit that the man looked peaceful. You know, without the smug look on his face towering above his, or the one of unrelenting rage that threatened to seep the life off him; it was a good change of pace.

Too bad it only lasted a couple of seconds.

The tranquil atmosphere of the room was suddenly interrupted by a loud beeping. Tom jumped, looking around panickedly. He searched for the source of the noise, when his gaze landed on the Norsk's prosthetic arm.

His eyes widened. _Mother f-_

He didn't have time to finish that thought, as the beeping grew louder and Tord jolted awake. Tom grimaced, quickly shutting his eyes and willing his heartbeat to slow down enough for his breathing to reach a steady pace.

Tord panted, caught off-guard by the notification alarm coming from his arm. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He didn't mean to fall asleep. Last he remembers, he came in to check on Tom, and then-

The train of thought disbanded when Tord stiffened in realization. He checked the screen on his arm, and sure enough, it displayed a heart monitor; showing the sudden change to the usual rhythm it has kept over the past few days. It could only mean one thing.

Alert, and fully awake at this point, Tord shifted in his seat and glanced at his "supposed sleeping" test subject. "Tom?" He called out, hoping to receive an answer this time. "Tom, I know that you're awake. The chip I've implanted on you gives me direct access to your nervous system, and it's currently telling me that you are awake."

Despite already knowing his cover has been blown, Tom did not open his eyes. He doesn't want to face Tord. Not now, nor ever.

On the other hand, Tord was starting to grow impatient. He crossed his arms, raising one eyebrow expectantly while tapping one foot repeatedly as he waited for Tom to realize he wasn't fooling him.

He grinned. "Hm, must've been another glitch from my arm. This stupid thing!" He banged his prosthetic against the wall with frustration. "Oh well, I guess I was mistaken." He shrugged with a sigh, still grinning maniacally. Not that Tom could see it, anyway.

Next thing he knows, Tom hears footsteps distancing themselves away from his bed; and the familiar hiss of the door as it slides open and closes again. Tom strains to hear anything else but he is met with absolute silence.

Is he gone?

Tom takes the risk. Squinting one eye open, barely just a slit; he sees the room Tord-less. No signs of the Norsk.

Tom breathed a sigh of relief. He opened his eyes and sat up on his bed, running one hand through his messy locks. "That was close." He murmured. "What a weirdo! Talking to himself like that-!"

"You are not much better yourself."

Tom practically jumped on his bed, and yelped in surprise when Tord peeked out from beneath the bed. The Norsk laughed; mighty pleased with himself for causing such an effect on the eyeless man. He clutched his sides as he rose from the floor.

"You should've seen the look on your face!" Tord continued to laugh, wiping a stray tear from the corner of his eye.

Tom stared at him indignantly. How dare he do this to him? He huffed and crossed his arms, glaring at the Norsk as he waited for him to finish his fit of laughter. "Are you done yet?"

Tord nodded, nearly out of breath. He sighed contently before recomposing himself. "That was worth it." He kept grinning that stupid, trademark smile of his.

An awkward silence hung in the air between them as the laughter died down, and they simply stared at each other. Neither of them knowing what to say in their current position. Tom wasn't too uncomfortable though. He was still rather tired, and he just merely blinked at the man before him with a deadpanned expression; waiting for him to leave so he could be in peace at last.

Ultimately, it was Tord who broke the silence. He cleared his throat, and rubbed the back of his neck. "So… how are you feeling?"

Tom shrugged. "Fine. But tired." He stretched out his arms above his head as he lets out a huge yawn. "Mostly tired." It was then that he was startled to realize he has wrappings on both arms. Curious, albeit rather wearily, he turned his arms to inspect the bandages so expertly wrapped around his limbs. From the tip of his finger, all the way to his shoulder. And judging by the slightly pressure applied to his abdomen, chances are, he has even more bandages.

"You were in quite a sorry state, my dear friend." Tord's voice broke him out of his personal inspection. Tom turned to glare at him. "I can't help but worry, what could've possibly been bestowed upon you to leave you such a sorry mess?" He questioned, mildly interested.

Tom did not even bother to rebuke with the usual reply for being referred to as a friend, by the Norwegian man. His shoulders slumped, not feeling particularly aggressive right now. He simply glanced away. "Just a usual night at the bar taken too far, I guess." He answered tiredly. "I got drunk around other drunk people, and it escalated from there."

The reply took Tord by surprise. He wasn't expecting such a genuine answer from him. Now, whether or not he is actually being honest is debatable. But Tord is willing to give him the benefit of the doubt for now, until he has some compelling evidence disproving otherwise. Or Tom admits it himself.

Tord nodded, satisfied with the answer. "Thomas, what was the last thing that you remember?" He questioned.

Tom tilts his head. "What do you mean?"

"You passed out unexpectedly, and we got no clues as to why. Only mere hypothesis." He explained the situation calmly, trying to refresh the Brit's memory. "You have been asleep for nearly a week."

"A week?!" Tom gasped, bringing a hand to his forehead in disbelief. Was he gone for that long? More importantly, what did he do while he was gone?

"Can you tell us any reason as to why that happened?" Tord went on, moving to sit down on the edge of the bed; anticipating Tom's answer. He seemed to be cooperative. Maybe the other times he was merely cranky due to lack of decent sleep. Tord laughed at the notion. Whatever the case may be, he will take advantage of Tom's unexpected willingness to comply. "What was the last thing you remember, Thomas?"

"I… I remember our fight in the gym." Tord visibly winced at that. He was secretly hoping he had forgotten about that little ordeal. "Then I went to talk to Patrick… Tasty juice…" Tom subconsciously licked his lips at the memory. He wished he could take a sip of that right about now. His head stung, as he struggled to remember the rest.

"And? What else?" Tord pressed on, anxious to get any sort of information that might prove useful out of him.

Tom shook his head slightly. "I just felt really dizzy all of the sudden." He continuously rubbed his head. "A bad headache, and then… nothing." He hissed in pain, still feeling the sharp lingering remains of said headache.

Tord stood up, walking to the bedside table Tom failed to notice, that contained a cup and a jug of water. He poured water onto the cup, then settled the jug back down before he opened the compartment in his arm containing aspirin. "Here, take this." He offered to him.

Surprisingly, Tom did not question about the contents. He was just glad to have something to relieve him of the pain, and drench his sore throat. He popped the pill in his mouth and drank the entire glass in one swig.

"Better?" Tord watched him curiously.

Rather than answering, Tom just leaned forward in his bed and grabbed the jug from the bedside table before chugging it down. Tord stared at him in silent awe. The Brit nearly managed to drain the entire thing of its contents before he placed the jug back down; wiping his mouth with one hand. "Now I am."

The Norsk chuckled at his antics, shaking his head slightly as he moved to sit down again. He began to fiddle with his hands, his expression softening. "Has this happened before?" He asks.

"Sometimes." Tom rubbed his eyes in a fruitless attempt to stay awake a little longer. "But I don't know what triggers it." He paused, his face grim.

Holding his own chin, Tord hummed deep in thought. "Thomas, do you by any chance have been getting trouble sleeping?"

The Brit's empty gaze lifted, and met his. "For a while now." His voice, barely a murmur.

"Why is that?" Tord asks.

He shrugged in response. "I don't know."

Tord frowned, somewhat disappointed he wasn't getting any clear answers. Another mystery to add to the jumble. He pursed his lips, tilting his head. "Then this sudden blackout and short coma could be as we had anticipated." He deduced. "Perhaps your lack of sleep has simply been trying to keep up with you. And when your body couldn't handle it anymore; your system running on fumes just to keep working, your body shut down until you got enough energy back."

"You mean like, a computer restart system, or something?"

"Precisely like that." The Norsk nodded. "And the only way to stop it from happening, is to get plenty of rest until you are back to proper health."

"If you say so." Tom muttered, not the least bit fazed by this information. It's easier said than done.

Tord stared at him in dismay, not sure how to fix the problem. "Is it insomnia, or nightmares?"

"Nightmares." Tom answered begrudgingly, eyes closed shut.

The Red leader blinked in surprise. He actually answered him truthfully that time. Maybe Tom is finally warming up to him after all! An idea suddenly hit him, and he started to rummage through his uniform's pockets. "I have just the thing that can help you friend! Here-!" He pulled a tiny black disc out from his chest pocket.

Tom blinked as Tord placed the tiny thing on his hand. He brought up to his eye-level for a closer inspection, turning it in his fingers. He has no idea what it is. But it looks rather tasty. Tom numbly tried to take a bite of it.

"Wha-? Tom no! You're not supposed to eat it!" Quick as lightning, Tord took away the disc from Tom's hold before he could actually damage it.

The brit whined in disappointment. "It isn't? But it looks like a tiny burned cookie!" He stared at Tord's hand; the one which currently held the disc. "What is it then?"

"This, is a special device that I personally invented to help users gain a peaceful sleep, undisturbed by nightmares. I created it for my own needs, but I figure you need it more than I do." Tord explained, turning the disc around in his hand; inspecting it for any substantial damage inflicted by Tom's baby-bite. There doesn't seem to be anything wrong, thankfully. He leaned closer to Tom. "All you have to do is place the device in your ear, and then press this switch right here to activate it. Then you just go to sleep, and the device shall do its magic." He instructed, showing him exactly what he needed to do. He carefully placed the device into his ear, like so, and backed away. Tom scratched behind his ear, a little bothered by the thing; though the sensation wasn't that much different from wearing an earphone.

Another uncomfortable silence stretched between them. Red leader took a deep breath, running one hand through his own hair. Somewhat hesitant now, he cleared his throat. "Tom, I am going to be away for a while." He announced.

Tom raised an eyebrow questioningly. "Away?" Echoed, as if the word was foreign to him. "How long?"

"Hopefully, this shouldn't take more than a couple of months. But still… it will be a while." Tord murmured, glancing down at the ground. "Paul and Pat will be looking after you while I'm gone. I merely request that you behave accordingly, and be nice to them." He paused, shifting his weary gaze back to Tom. "One thing is for you to aim your anger and frustration at me, for all the sh#t I put you through; and rightfully so. But they are good people. They are only following orders, and don't deserve to be mistreated. So please don't be difficult with them." He requested, before a sad smile graced his features. "Though, something tells me you won't be nearly as stubborn with them as you are with me. You seem to get along with them far better than we ever have."

If he detected the wistful tone in his voice, Tom showed no signs. "Where you going?"

The Red leader straightened himself, fixing the collar of his uniform. "I need to check my other bases. As leader, duty always calls." He answered. "Oh. It's also best that I should warn you now before I go. Since you haven't consumed any alcohol these last few days, you will probably start feeling the effects of the withdrawal soon enough. It ain't gonna be pretty." He advised. "These next couple of weeks are going to be… hm, how do you so eloquently put it? Oh, that's right! Lame."

"Nice." Tom says sarcastically.

Tord chuckled. "But I'm sure you'll be fine. After all, you're gonna have both of my best soldiers looking after you." He reassured, though Tom wasn't entirely convinced. Tord's expression softened. He leaned forward and ruffled Tom's hair slightly. "I suppose this is goodbye for now, old friend."

A low grumble was uttered by the Brit, but he did not voice a complaint or displayed any signs of aggression at the contact. Once more, all he did was blink with a blank expression.

"See you in a few months!" Tord smiled, waving his test subject farewell as he stepped away and made his way out the room.

"Wait."

At his call, Tord halted in front of the door. He glanced back at him. "Yes?" He blinked expectantly.

Tom shifted in his bed, feeling conscious all the sudden. "I… Shucks I'm going to regret saying this, ain't i? Uhm..." He mumbled, rubbing the back of his head nervously. He sighed in defeat. "I'm sorry for the way I acted before. And ripping off your eyepatch. I don't know what came over me, but I didn't really mean to do it. You just… get on my nerves."

At this point, Tord is sure this is just a dream. He is still sound sleep on his chair, he will wake up, and see that Tom hasn't awaken; proving that this is all just a figment of his imagination. Tom is apologizing? Surely this can't be real? The only thing Tord could think to explain the weirdness of this situation, is that Tom might be suffering the effects of the withdraw, and that's why he's been so unresponsive than usual.

Subconsciously, he touched his eyepatch. "It's fine, Thomas." He reassured. He took a deep breath, remembering Patrick's words from earlier. "I am… sorry as well. I shouldn't have provoked you, and I acted immaturely for a leader." And for the second time that day, the Red leader felt his pride get wounded. He could practically see Patrick's triumphant smirk if he were to see this development.

When there was nothing more to be said between them, Tord gave him a nod of acknowledgement. The door slid open with a hiss, and the Red leader left the room with a final wave of goodbye.

Breathing a tired sigh, Tom fell back on his bed; gazing at the ceiling. Things are finally going his way it seems. Life decided to take pity on him at last, and grant him a few months free of Tord. Yeah, the withdrawal sucks. And he's still at the red army's mercy. But at least he won't see Tord's smug face anytime soon.

But he had more pressing matters to worry about. More notably, his blackout. He wasn't lying when he said that it happened before. But the thing is, it wasn't triggered by lack of sleep. The real reason is worse. Much worse. Thankfully enough, nothing seemed to have happened this time. But it's only a matter of time until the thing gains its strength back, and manages to break free one more. Tom dreads that day. All his hard work to keep it under control, and it was for absolutely nothing in the end.

He picked the tiny device from his ear and held it up to his face, twirling it in his fingers as he dived deeper into his own thoughts. Whatever happens here on out, Tom will just have to toughen up and take it. But one thing is for sure. By the end of the year, either one of two outcomes will come into fruition.

The worst-case scenario; Tord ultimately wins. He finds out all his secrets, and finally gets what he wants from him. Using him in his schemes as he sees fit. Or the best possibility; Tom becomes just another one of Tord's failed attempts, and he joins all the other fallen test subjects. He will die during the experiments. It would definitely be the better outcome out of the two. He wouldn't let Tord win. The monster will be gone forever. And he won't hurt anyone ever again. His miserable existence will finally be put to a rest. He knows it's for the best.

Dark thoughts continued to drift around in his mind. He hadn't realized it, but tears were pricking the corners of his empty sockets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta-dah!
> 
> What did you guys think? Getting pretty good, huh? I hope so. So Tord is going away for a little while, but don't worry! It's just to serve as a type of time skip, because you guys don't need to see the entire process of Tom's recovery. It wastes time, and if I were to go that route, this story would be more than fricking 50 chapters long! Tord will be back, possibly in two or three chapters.
> 
> Also, what did you guys think of Reagan? Quite a jerk, am I right? Well, you will see a lot more of him, and I guarantee you; the further we go in the story, the more you'll want to punch his face in. Man, I created him and even I hate his guts. I'm so proud! If i had to describe him though, and give you a small tease for his future appearances; he is that annoying guy you had at school, or workplace who simply doesn't take the hint and never shuts up. But there is a whole lot more to it then he lets it show. Muahahah


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edd and Tom are not fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, this is Flower1815 here, bringing you a new chapter of MLTS. This one is shorter than the previous ones i've posted recently, but i still hope you can find the same enjoyment in reading it. Just a heads up though, i know i put the warnings in the summary but i am going to warn you now there are mentions of self-harm in this chapter. Anyway, thank you all so much for the support I really appreciate it, and I'll see ya all later! ;)

It's another stormy day in England. It's been raining for several days now, and the weather shows no signs of stopping. Hopefully, one of these days, the sun will finally get a chance to shine through again. But until then, the people of the town will just have to endure it.

A lonely figure climbed the steps towards his apartment. His coat and hoodie soaking wet from the rain. He carried four plastic bags, overfilled with groceries. Shaking himself to get rid of all the water still clinging onto him, he managed to toss the hoodie back from over his head; revealing his bright ginger hair into view.

Walking along the corridor, Matt stopped in front of an apartment door; not his own, but of his companion. Anxiously, he began to knock on it. "Edd? Are you there?" He called out, pressing his ear against the wooden surface to hear anything. But no answer. "Come on Edd. open up, buddy! It's me! Matt!"

It's been nearly a month since they got the dreadful news about their friend's unfortunate passing. And worse still, it was the last time since he'd seen his green hooded friend. Edd took the news hard. He locked himself in his apartment, and refused to go out. He didn't talk. Matt is pretty sure he hasn't been eating either, considering he never saw him go buy any groceries as of late. It worried him a lot.

Matt was helpless in this situation. He came by Edd's door every day, more than twice sometimes, to knock repeatedly, and call out to him only to be met with more silence; resulting in him going back to his own apartment in defeat. He'd tried everything at this point. He knocked on the door multiple times, so much so his knuckles were starting to turn a light shade of purple. He rang the doorbell to the point it broke. He called Edd's phone constantly, but it was never picked up.

"Edd? Please talk to me!" Matt pleaded through the door, still knocking. "Please? I just want to know if you're alright." He leaned his forehead against the door tiredly. He's been doing the same routine every day. Matt wasn't sure how long he can keep this up. How long Edd can keep this up. But for Edd's sake, he needs to keep going. They already suffered so much in the past. And now, with  _him_  gone…

Sighing in defeat, Matt backed away from the door; staring at it intently. He began to make his way to his own apartment. He was standing directly in front of his door, keys in one hand, about to open it when he hears an unexpected noise.

He stiffens at the sound, dropping his keys in the process. The loud buzzing noise echoed in his ears. But the weird thing, is that the source of the sound seems to be coming from the apartment left of his.

_His_  apartment.

Cautiously, he tiptoed his way towards the door and pressed his ear against it. The sound was definitely coming from within.

Matt backed away, fearing a burglar might've broke in. Or maybe a deranged homeless person, making use of his friend's stuff. He retreated into his own apartment, dropping the groceries on the counter before grabbing a bust of his own face as a weapon, in case whoever was inside attacked him.

Shakily, he approached the door. The buzzing on the other side still loud and going. With a startling realization, Matt noticed that the spare key was still lodged in the lock. Somehow, whoever was inside found out about the key's location beneath the fire extinguisher.

Trembling from head to toe in apprehension, Matt turned the door knob. He paused, gulping and dreading what he may find waiting for him. He braced himself. Swinging the door open, it slammed against the wall. Matt let out a terrified shriek as he held the bust in front of him like a shield, waiting for the worst to happen.

"Hey Matt!"

At the sound of his name, he stiffened and did a double take at the sight before him. "E-Edd?" He was not imagining things. His friend is really standing right in front of him; currently vacuuming the floor. That would explain the loud noise he heard. "Is it really you?"

Edd chuckled, seemingly amused by his shocked reaction. "Of course, silly!"

Matt breathed out a sigh of relief, his shoulders sagged as he relaxed. Now the spare key in the door made sense, and he felt the sudden urge to laugh at his overreaction. "Oof, thank goodness!" He put the bust down, no longer having need for it. "You scared me for a moment there." He laughed half-heartedly, before it trailed off into an awkward cough as the reality of the situation suddenly hit him. This is the first time they've seen each other since that fateful day. Recalling his friend's reaction and all the countless days he had spent calling out to him at his door, worry instantly gripped him. "So… H-how- how are holding up?" He asks hesitantly, afraid of setting the green hooded man off by saying the wrong thing.

"Oh, I'm fine actually." Edd responded. His voice held the same cheerfulness Matt was so used to hearing. In fact, nothing about him now would ever indicate the sadness that he once felt when they learned about their companion's whereabouts. "I went to fetch you for breakfast early this morning, but you had already left." He went on, still vacuuming the floor. "I made pancakes! They are on the counter if you want."

Glancing in the direction of the kitchen, Matt spotted a stack of freshly made pancakes; steaming with butter and syrup as the contents melted down over the sides. His mouth couldn't help but water at the sight. Edd's pancakes were always the best. His stomach voiced its opinion rather loudly, and Matt recalled that he hadn't eaten anything before going out. And so, he was more than happy to take the offer. "Thanks!"

He moved to sit on one of the stools by the counter, taking a fork and knife out the drawer, Matt began to scarf down the pancake hungrily. In the process, he couldn't help the hum of delight escape him. It's been so long since he'd last eaten one of Edd's infamous pancakes! He usually saves making them only for weekends or special occasions.

"Where did you go anyway?" Edd's question brought him out of his meal, and he glanced up at him.

Matt swallowed before answering. "Oh, I was just out in the market buying groceries. Nothing much." He answered, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

In that exact moment, Matt's eyes shifted and fell on the other end of the kitchen counter. His face contorted into a puzzled expression. Another stack of pancakes laid before him, neat and untouched. Syrup and melted butter coated its sides, but this stack was implemented with a fancy swirl of whipped cream at the top, and various blueberries were scattered around the plate. Matt tilted his head. _Is it Edd's?_  Guilt instantly overcame him. Edd went out of his way to make breakfast for the both of them, even waits for him to come back for them to eat together; and yet he goes and eats his own stack without a second thought. Matt chuckled dryly.  _ **He**  did always say I'm absent-minded._ He mused with a pang of sadness.

"Well that's great! After you finish eating you can help me clean up this place. It's a mess!" Edd's voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

"Sure! No problem!" Matt responded through another forkful of pancakes. "But why exactly are you cleaning T- I mean! Cleaning the apartment for?" He couldn't help but ask. It was weird enough seeing him look so cheerful, much less finding him here in all places. Although he does not condemn Edd for being happy per say; but something just doesn't feel quite right here.

Edd's answer was enough explanation.

"For when Tom comes back, silly!"

Matt instantly chocked on the pancake he was so fondly eating before. Fist beating against his own chest to clear up his throat. He coughed, gasping for breath as he stared at Edd; disbelief was shown on his face.

"I mean, just look at this dump! It was a lot worse before I got here, I tell you that." Edd continued. Matt's shocked reaction went completely unnoticed by him. "But Tom can come back any moment, and I want to surprise him. Just imagine how glad he is going to be when he finds his apartment clean again!"

Now things were starting to make a little too much sense, and Matt wasn't sure he was ready to handle this. Suddenly the pancakes have lost their appeal, and they look a lot less appetizing than they were. The chunk that was still in his mouth felt dry, and tasteless; he swallowed the lump in his throat with great difficulty. His stomach churned with discomfort. His eyes accidentally wandered to the opposite end of the counter, to where the other stack stood.

Those pancakes weren't meant for Edd. But for  _him._

Matt felt his legs start to quiver. "E-E- Edd?"

"Oh! And I went ahead and bought a few bottles of Smirnoff for him. The original ones this time!" He kept on going. "Placed them in the fridge already, and threw away all the diet ones. That really was a stupid move on my part! I just hope he can forgive me…"

Matt pushed away from the counter, and stood up from his stool in shaky legs. He stared at Edd; weary, anxious, scared, but most of all, worried. He had no clue what to do in this situation. Edd is obviously in denial about the whole situation. Should Matt remind him of the truth, and risk upsetting him? Or should he just go along to spare his feelings? He cares so much about him, and his wellbeing; he really wished he could keep the pain away. But deep down, Matt knows that being delusional about the truth won't do Edd any good either.

Concerned, and yet determined, Matt stepped closer to his friend.

"I'm nearly done with the living room. The kitchen is mostly cleaned, except for the dishes, but we can do that later! Then it's Tom's room next." Edd was still ranting. His voice joyful, with a closed eyed smile on his face. "When we're done I thought we could, maybe, play some video games or something to pass the time until he comes back. I don't wanna leave in case Tom returns and we're not here to greet him!"

Matt approached him with apprehension. He raised one of his hands and shakily placed it over his friend's shoulder. He felt Edd stiffen at the contact. He did not turn around, nor did he stop vacuuming the room. Matt sighed. "E-Edd, you know as well as I do that…" He paused, trying to find the best way to break it to him without further harm. "That he- he isn't coming back."

The vacuum cleaner turned off.

Matt took a step back, withdrawing his hand away. He stared at Edd anxiously, waiting for the outburst to happen. Instead, the man in the green hoodie glanced back at him over his shoulder; still smiling. "Don't be silly, Matt. Of course Tom's coming back!" He told him, voice filled with optimism. Though Matt could tell it was rather forced. "Sure, he was upset with us when we last saw him… But he just needs some time to cool off, and before you know it, Tom's gonna be back like nothing ever happened!" He beamed. "Just like you said!"

Matt stared at him in dismay, sadness brimming in his blue eyes the more he observed his appearance. Judging by the dark bags beneath his eyes, he could tell Edd hasn't been getting a wink of sleep as of late. "Edd…" He tried to reach out once again, only for him to take a few steps back; his smile faltering ever so slightly.

"Just you wait and see! Tom's coming back, and everything will be alright again." Edd kept insisting, his voice wavering for a tiny fraction as he turned away from his ginger companion. "And then we can watch Return of the insane zombie pirates from hell 6: The final revenge of the curse! And who knows, after that we may go on more adventures just like… We once used to." The volume of his voice got increasingly lower as he went on, turning into a mere hushed whisper by the end.

"E-Edd, you're scaring me…" Matt shrunk back, genuinely unsettled by his friend's behaviour. "Please, snap out of it."

The man in the green hoodie looked back up at him, with a large smile plastered on his face. But what really got Matt's attention, aside from the creepy smile, was the fact that there are tears spilling from Edd's eyes. He was trying, and failing miserably to keep up the illusion despite Matt's protests. "What do you m-mean, Matt?" He asks softly, shaking his head. "Snap out of… What? Exactly?"

Matt gulped. A freezing chill spread around his insides with a sense of dread. He could feel his own eyes start to water the more he stared at his friend. This situation was rapidly running out of control, and Matt was in the verge or bursting into tears himself. He was only able to get a hold of himself just for Edd's sake. He is in more distress than himself, and he needs to be strong enough to console him.

He lurched forward suddenly, throwing his arms out and around Edd; enveloping him in a tight hug. Matt felt him stiffen in his hold, but he did not step away. "Edd, please, I know this is hard to accept… But you're gonna have to, sooner or later!" He sniffled, trying his damn hardest to keep himself from trembling. He held in the tears that were threatening to spill over, and he tightened the hug; at this point, he is unsure whether or not he is actually doing this for his own comfort or for Edd's. He buried his face in his friend's shoulder, afraid of uttering his next words loud and clear. "He is never coming back."

Edd clenched his fists.

"What do you know?"

Matt looked up, confusion replacing sadness. He glanced at Edd, and was shocked to find him glaring at him through glistening green eyes. "Edd?"

"You know, Matt, I never took you for being sceptical type. If you even know what that word means." He told him coldly.

The man in the purple hoodie flinched, and reared back; completely baffled by Edd's sudden change in attitude, and spontaneous rude demeanour. "I'm just- I'm only trying to help you!"

Edd shoved him away, breaking the hug. "I don't need your help!" He states confidently. "I know that I am right! Tom is going to come back."

"Please listen to me!" Matt begged, hardly containing his emotions at bay. "No matter how much you wish otherwise, he isn't coming back."

"Yes, he is!" Edd insisted.

"Tom's dead!"

Edd flinched for a millisecond, before glowering at him. "You know what? Since you're so discontent with the way things are, why don't you just leave?" He snapped. "The door is right behind you, and I can clean this whole place on my own. But when Tom comes back, don't come crying back to me hoping he'll forgive you!"

His words genuinely hurt Matt, and he felt painful tug in his chest. "Edd please!"

"Get out, Matt." He demanded as he turned away from him, crossing his arms. "You already caused enough damage."

The ginger haired man stared at him in dismay. He was torn between insisting or heeding his words. But considering how upset Edd is, he opted for the latter. Defeated, Matt began to head out. When he reached the door, he shot one last glance at his friend over his shoulder, sad to find him still with his back turned to him. He sighed and left the apartment, silently closing the door behind him and leaving Edd to his own devices.

The man in the green hoodie breathed out a sigh of relief, attempting to calm down his troubling thoughts and rebellious emotions. With Matt gone, he can now go back to his task of making Tom's home presentable for his return. It's the least he can do for his eyeless friend, after what he put him through.

Once he made sure everything was set and done in the living room, he pulled the vacuum's plug off the socket, and moved to his next destination. Tom's room. Walking along the corridor, Edd fumed quietly. "Stupid Matt. What does he know about Tom? Can't even get his fricking name right at the best of times! Why should I listen to him? I know I'm right! Tom is fine, and he will come back! Why is that so hard to believe?" He ranted, grumbling under his breath even though no one is around to hear him. His heart clenched whenever he remembered his eyeless friend. Although it hurts, to Edd; it was best to keep on remembering than to forget him entirely and pretend he never even existed. He should know… Edd regrets what he did, but the memory was simply just too painful to keep. But he won't make the same mistake twice. He owes Tom that much.

Finally, he reached the end of the corridor where he stood before a lone, blue door. Swiping his troubles and thoughts aside, Edd grabbed the door handle. Hopefully his mind will be too distracted with his current task to think of anymore problems. But as he twisted the knob, and opened the door with a resonating creak, he found himself growing anxious at the sight he was met with.

The room is a mess. Absolute shambles!

Dirty clothes were scattered all over the floor. Many bottles of Smirnoff were littered around the room, some of them are even shattered. The mattress had large gashes running along its surface, the stuffing and springs from within are poking out in tufts. The bed sheets were piled in the far corner of the room in a messy bundle; as if they were tossed away in a careless fashion. The pillows were shredded, barely even scraps, with clumps of feathers lying around all over the place. One of the wardrobe's doors was barely hanging on its hinges, while the other door had a chunk of it missing. Some of the drawers were missing from their cabinets; and although the window blinds were close, a little bit of light from outside shined through the broken gaps. The only thing that's remotely in good condition at all is Susan, leaning against the wall in the corner; but only because the base had already been through so much and looks better in comparison to everything else.

Edd stood by the door, completely frozen, as he took in the scene before him with wide eyes. The fact that Tom had forbidden them from ever coming anywhere near his room was starting to make sense to him now; and he wasn't sure that was a good thing. Not taking his eyes off the scene, Edd subconsciously began to feel the walls for the light switch. The room is absurdly dark. His fingers flipped the switch on, but nothing happened. He repeated the motion a couple of times before adverting his gaze away from the room to glance upwards. The lights are busted.

Edd gulped. Making sure to keep the door open with the light from the corridor shining behind him, Edd took slow, and weary steps into the ominous room. The atmosphere he found hanging around in the air felt suffocating and full of dread. It made him nauseous.

A resonating crunch sounded when he took another step. Glancing down at his feet, Edd found various shards of glass scattered on the floor; presumably more broken bottles. Upon closer inspection, Edd took notice of long scratch marks decorating the walls and floor. Odd. Considering Tom never had any pets, nor did he like Ringo enough to let the cat freely wander around his apartment.

Looking around the creepy room, Edd didn't even know where to begin. The vacuum cleaner laid uselessly next to him. It will take a lot more than that just to fix this mess. Maybe the bathroom is in better condition. He decided, heading for the door positioned to his left.

Oh, how dead wrong he is.

He attempted to open the door, but it wouldn't budge beyond a small gap. Edd then tried to forcefully push the door open, but to no avail. Getting frustrated, he started to slam his own body against the door to slam it open. After a couple of attempts, he managed to burst through only for his breath to hitch in his throat, as he gasps at the sight.

Blood.

Blood was everywhere.

The dried crimson liquid was coating the white surfaces of the bathroom tiles, the sink, towels, shower, the curtains; pretty much everything. Edd glanced around wearily, taking a shaky step into the bloody bathroom. He felt as if he just stumbled upon a crime scene from a horror movie or something, and at this point he was half-expecting the killer to pop out and pounce on him at any given moment.

More crunching noises sounded from beneath his footsteps. Edd raised one foot, to see shards of glass scattered on the rug and floor; blood coating their edges. His gaze drifted upwards to look at the sink, and was surprised to see his distorted reflection gazing back at him from the confines of a shattered mirror. Its glass fragments were scattered over the sink in a bloody pile, along with dull, and rusted razors.

Edd carefully picked one of the razors, and lifted to his eyelevel for a closer inspection. The blades are tainted with dried specks of blood, and the edges are crusting brown with rust.

He gulped, a shiver running down his spine as he backed away from the scene. Surely there is a reasonable explanation for all of this? Maybe Tom was trying to shave one day and accidentally hurt himself… and broke the mirror… which hurt him more… which then resulted in the bloodied state of the bathroom. That's reasonable, right?

Edd tried to come up with various possible scenarios that could explain his findings, as well as sooth his ever-increasing worries for his missing friend. This shouldn't be hard! After all, it's not like Tom is secretly a murderer, or that anything serious is going on with him, right?

Little did Edd know, he isn't that far off from the truth…

**(Meanwhile...)**

Gripping the sides of the porcelain seat tightly in his hands, Tom hunched over and hurled out whatever contents still resided in his pitiful stomach. The taste of bile was familiar to him by now, and his throat ached with how often this seem to happen. A comforting hand gently patted his back. "There, there… Just let it all out, buddy." Paul tried to soothe him, looking awfully uncomfortable with the situation and not really sure how to handle this.

To say his situation is lame would be putting it lightly.

It hasn't been that long since Tord left the facility, a week and a half at most, and the Red leader had been correct in his assumption about Tom's condition. The eyeless subject was undergoing through a severe alcohol withdraw. He could barely muster up the strength within himself to do anything. Ever since it started, Tom hadn't left the confines of his quarters. Not because he wasn't allowed, but simply because of his constant lack of energy, and weakness in his limbs. Tom once tried to take a walk around the halls, taking advantage of the Norsk's absence in the base, only for him to end up on the tiled floor; curled up into a ball, on his side, in the corner of a corridor with his own arms wrapped around his abdomen, moaning with pain.

Pat had found him and helped him back to his quarters, deeming him too unfit to leave unsupervised. It was degrading to say the least.

Feeling his stomach subside, Tom slumped back; panting for breath. "Feeling better now?" Paul asked, earning a silent nod from his head. Effortlessly picking Tom up, Paul carried him back to his bed. The Brit did not voice any complaint, nor did he make any sort of fuss. He is far too tired to fight against the humiliation of being carried around like a baby. Good thing Tord isn't here to tease him, at least. The Norwegian man would never let him live this down.

Being placed down upon his bed, Tom turned to lay on his side and curled up; hugging his knees to his chest.

"Do you need anything else?" Paul offered, staring at him with concern. Unable to speak, Tom simply shook his head in response. "Pat will check on you soon, alright? You should try and get some rest till then."

_Easier said than done._  Tom rebuked silently, a spasm rippled through his body and he clenched himself tighter. If he had trouble sleeping before, the withdrawal was a constant hammering against his skull that won't ever let him rest. He watched the Red army Commander leave, the door sliding close behind him, and Tom was once again left alone.

Miserably he nuzzled against his pillow, in a weak attempt of gaining some sort of comfort. His ragged, heavy breathing echoed in the room; the air felt smothering hot and Tom was sweating profusely. His mind is fuzzy, and unable to focus. Tossing and turning in his bed, he tried desperately to close his eyes, rest, and escape the surging pain that wracked his body with so much intensity. But every time he did, Tom would be haunted by the horrific nightmares that continuously plagued his mind. Bodies being torn apart in savage, and horrendous ways by his own hands. It was a hard dilemma. Either he remains awake through the withdrawal, doing absolutely nothing but lay down in pain, vomit, and wait for time slowly pass by. Or he goes to sleep and re-visit his worst fears. What do?

Usually he wouldn't mind going through pain. It keeps his mind busy; focusing on something else other than the primitive urge that fluctuates within him at random intervals. It may not be ideal, but it does its job, and Tom learned to put up with it, and maybe even enjoy sometimes. It's a reliving sensation. But this pain is nothing like a stab or a cut. It was agonizing. Now, whether he prefers withdrawal over shifting it's a different story. It's been a long time since the last time he–

Another spasm travelled through his body. Tom groaned, and curled up tighter on himself. His situation is hopeless by every definition of the word. He continued to pant heavily for breath. His chest rising and falling excessively with his respiration. Through his half-closed eyes, Tom's blurry vision could make out the small, flat circular disc on his bedside table.

The device Tord had given him.

He never used it; highly distrusting the Norwegian man and his intentions. Tom placed it away from himself, swearing through stubbornness that he'll never use it out of spite. But the withdrawal was getting to him. Tom reached his arm out, gingerly grabbing the device and bringing it over to him.  _"This, is a special device that I personally invented to help users gain a peaceful sleep, undisturbed by nightmares."_ Tord's words echoed as Tom looked over the tiny object in his fingers. " _I created it for my own needs, but I figure you need it more than I do."_

In his agony, Tom shrugged and decided to give in. What's the worst that could happen to him at this point? Nothing would ever compare to his nightmares, and not many things faze him anymore. His only concern, was the fact that Tord stated he had created the device for himself. Tom shudders.  _I swear, if I put this on and dream about some sh#tty hentai, I'm gonna kill that commie f#ck next time I see him!_

Not having many options left, Tom placed the device into his ear; doing exactly as Tord had instructed. Feeling the tiny switch on its surface, he flipped it. He tried his best to accommodate himself on the bed, but the constant pain surging through his body was a bothersome problem. Getting comfortable, Tom did not bother in going under the covers; he feels warm enough already. Closing his eyes, Tom buried his face into the pillows, and waited for his fatigue to do its work and put him to sleep.

Being so used to this scenario, Tom was half-expecting the bloody imageries of his recurring nightmares to pop up and make him jolt awake.

Instead, he was met with a rather startling sight.

But in a good way.

A tiny speck of light glimmered in the distance, growing brighter and brighter until it enveloped him completely. Tom was sure if he had any eyes, they would be burning up right now at the light's intensity. The harsh glare of whiteness that blinded him progressively faded away, revealing a clear blue sky above him. Tom blinked in confusion. This isn't his quarters. But then again, this isn't some dark alley for him to shred people in, so there's that. He suddenly found himself laying on solid ground, and something tickled the back of his neck and hands.

Sitting up slowly, Tom was greeted with a huge, lush green meadow; stretching far over the horizon. Flowers of all kinds bloomed all over the place. A passing breeze flowed by, rustling the grass blades as it came and went. A large lake loomed ahead, the crystal-clear water glistened with sparks of sunlight on its still surface, and a large willow tree stood at the edge.

Tom stared dumbfounded at the beautiful landscape he found himself in. He was laying on top of a blooming hill, overlooking the scenery. The cool breeze brushed against him, ruffling his hair just slightly while also refreshing his warm skin. He clenched his hands over a patch of grass, feeling the blades and dirt in his fingers.  _This feels so real!_

Tom stood up in shaky legs, looking down at the hill as the sun shined above him. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes as he felt the wind blow on his face, and stretched his arms out before plummeting forward. Tom rolled down the grassy hill, the flowers softening his fall as he continued rolling until he no longer could, and came to a stop at the very bottom, where he laid on his back; panting for breath as he stretched his arms out to feel the grass and flowers around him. The sensation was so realistic, Tom could've fooled himself into thinking this as reality and not a dream.

He laid there on the meadow for what seemed like ages, appreciating the scent of flowers, quiet setting, and cool breeze. Butterflies would occasionally flutter by his eyes, going from one bloom to another as they gathered around, some even landing on him. Tom continued to stare at the sky, taking deep breaths as he took in the smell of fresh air he hadn't felt in days. He spotted a couple of doves perched on the branches of the willow tree not too far away from him, before unfolding their wings and taking flight. A sense of tranquillity washed over him. Tom folded his arms beneath his head. Real or not, there was no doubt that he was at ease here. No voices tormenting him. No psychotic commie to piss him off. No people to maim. No monster. No problems. Tom could finally rest in peace here. Tom smiled, sighing contently as he slowly closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, he was disappointed to find himself staring up at the bland white ceiling of his quarters. Tom groaned in a mixture of annoyance and disappointment. And here he was, thinking he had somehow escaped this dreadful place and found peace. Tom flipped off the switch on the device, and plucked it off his ear. He stared down at the device in silent contemplation.

He was startled out of his thoughts when the door slid open with a resonant hiss, and Patrick strolled in the room.

"I'm sorry! Were you sleeping?" Pat asks worriedly, carrying a tray with him. "Forgive me, I did not mean to startle you."

"It's fine." Tom grumbled irritably.

Patrick stepped closer to him, carefully placing the tray over the bedside table before sitting down at the edge of the bed. Tom watched as he changed his bandages and cleaned his wounds, his fingers still fumbling with the tiny device in his hand.

When Patrick was finished with his bandages, he moved to the other side to change his IV bag. "Can I ask you something?" Tom spoke up, after several long moments of silence.

Patrick stared at him in surprise. "Of course."

"What can you tell me about this?" Tom questions, showing him the device held in his hand.

Pat narrowed his eyes and leaned closer to inspect it. Wordlessly he silently asked the Brit if he could take the device from his hands for just a mere moment. Tom nodded, dropping the tiny disc in the Polish soldier's hands.

"Ah, I see… This is creation #276, The Dreamcatcher. One of Red leader's most prized and cherished creations." Patrick evaluated the object. "Where did you acquire this?" He asks, shooting him a look of suspicion.

Tom glared at him, crossing his arms. He was not in the mood to be challenged. "I did not steal it, if that's what you are asking. Tord gave it to me before he left." He argued defensively. "But what does it do?"

"Did he not tell you?" Pat inquired curiously.

"All he said was that it is meant to help users get a peaceful rest without any nightmares." Tom told him. "But I want to know exactly how it does it."

Patrick hummed deep in thought, scratching his chin. "Well, basically as the name already insinuates, the device fends off nightmares by replacing it with good dreams." He explained. "But it doesn't replace it with any sort of good dreams. The device has a tiny holographic laser that goes into your brain, diving in to your deepest desires and bringing forth to your subconscious."

Tom blinked at him deadpanned. "Speak English!"

"Your nightmares are replaced by your dreams, and your dreams are your greatest desires." Patrick told him bluntly, handing him back the device. "Whenever you use the Dreamcatcher, you will dream of whatever you want the most."

Tom stared back at him numbly, watching as the Red Army General replaced his IV bag, and handed him a plastic cup with the special drink Tom grew so fond of. "Is there anything else I can do for you?" He asked the Brit.

Tom took a sip of his drink, relishing in the sweet taste. "No thanks." He grumbled.

"Alright, you should rest up a bit more." Patrick advised him. "I'll tell Paul to check on you later than usual, so as to not disturb your sleep. Okay?"

Tom nodded, waiting for him to leave the room already. When the door hissed shut, Tom fell back on his bed, staring at the ceiling deep in thought. So the device shows him his greatest desire whenever he dreams? Tom knows exactly what he desires most in this world, and even if it's not for real, he will take it over his nightmares any day, easy.

After hurriedly finishing his drink. He placed the empty cup aside and quickly placed the device back into his ear. Tom turned on the switch and closed his eyes, anticipating sleep. Funny. Mere hours ago, Tom was absolutely against the idea of sleeping, to avoid catching glimpses of his terrible actions. Now he wants it more than anything. Beats laying down all day staring at the wall at least. Tord gave him the device, and Tom will sure as hell make some good use out of it.

He drifted off into sleep once more, and he found himself back in the beautiful meadow; watching as the sun began to set down over the horizon, and lighting the entire sky in orange and golden hues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what did you guys think?
> 
> Tom's dream is meant to be up for interpretation, so tell me, what do you think is Tom's desire when he dreamt of the meadow? I promise i'll try to make the next chapter longer. Like i said, no Tord this time around but don't worry, he'll show up again real soon so just be patient. Leave a review telling me your thoughts, i hope you guys enjoyed it!
> 
> See yah!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edd comes to terms with his loss, Tom tries to act normal but fails, and something wicked this way comes...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! This is Flower1815 here, bringing you a very special chapter of MLTS. Why? BECAUSE IT IS THE FIC'S ONE YEAR OLD ANNIVERSARY!
> 
> *Round of applause*
> 
> Christ, I can't believe it's been exactly one year since i first posted this story! And I would've never imagined it would get so much attention either. I want to thank every single one of you, from the bottom of my heart, for the reviews, the follows, the faves, the reblogs, the kudos, and especially for the fanart; giving me the motivation to keep on going no matter what. I find so much enjoyment in writing these for you guys, and I hope you find reading them just as enjoyable as well.
> 
> OH BOY, THIS CHAPTER IS GONNA BE A DOOZIE! Get your tissue boxes on standby; you might need them.

Time flew by swiftly, and before long the green foliage of trees have decayed; turning into various shades of brown, yellow, and orange. They fell from their branches, leaving the trees barren, as they fluttered down to scatter among the other dead leaves covering the ground. Summer is gone, and autumn has arrived.

Although the temperature dropped considerably, today was one of those rare days when the rain would cease its rampant assault, and give the townsfolk a moments rest to leave their homes without the worry of getting wet, and enjoy the beautiful, dry sunset that without a doubt wouldn't last for very long.

A hand steadily ran over soft gray tabby fur, low purrs rumbling from the feline curled lazily over her owner's belly. Edd laid down, sprawled out on the sofa as he continued to stare up at the ceiling with a blank expression on his face, and petted Ringo for comfort. For weeks, he refused to leave Tom's apartment; anticipating his friend's return every single day. Now he is practically living here. Today, much like the previous ones, went about the same way. He would pace around the room, glancing at the clock every now and then, until the day neared its end and he would space out on the couch for the rest of noon.

So here he was now; doing absolutely nothing while his cat enjoyed the attention. Turns out petting Ringo makes for a good stress reliever. Edd sighed softly, his hand continuing with the motion, making Ringo purr loudly in content before nuzzling into his chest. Edd chuckled at his cat's actions, before his expression turned void again. He was thinking about Tom. He grew the tendency to do that over these past few weeks. Where could the eyeless Brit be? Was he okay? Was he taking good care of himself? When would he come back? Did he ever think of them? What if he is still angry with them?

Edd hoped Tom's okay, wherever he is.

He stretched his arm out to grab the remote control, lying on the table between the couch and the television, and he turned on the TV. The screen flickered to life to show that Professor Why was currently going on. Edd was too lazy to change the channel, and truly he wasn't seeking to distract himself. He merely turned on the TV because he was tired of the silence hanging in the air, and wanted some kind of noise to fill it in. Edd stared at the screen numbly; not paying attention to what was going on in the show, but simply watched stuff happen as his mind jumbled into thoughts.

 _I remember watching this with Tom._ Edd recalled, a faint smile appearing on his face. He remembers when they were sitting on the couch of their old home, watching the show with annoyed expressions. They complained about every little thing wrong with the program, shouting out curses, which then escalated into cracking jokes and making fun of the show. They were hysterical! Laughing their asses off as they could not believe what they were watching! It had been a very entertaining evening for them.

The little smile vanished, being replaced with a frown as his heart clenched at the thought of Tom. Oh, how he wished he could go back to simpler days. To a time where the three of them went on silly adventures almost daily, avoiding near-death experiences at every corner through sheer, dumb luck, and Edd's biggest concern back then was whether there would be sufficient cola waiting for him when they returned home.

But those days came to an end, when **he** returned.

Everything was great before he showed up again into their lives, spewing smooth lies and deceit from his mouth as it was in his nature. Edd, naïve as he is, had been so easily fooled by him. But not Tom. His eyeless friend ironically managed to see what he couldn't and he fended the Norsk away.

But the damage had already been done, and in more ways than one.

And to think that he nearly replaced Tom with **him** , was just another hit to his gut. Tom had more than proven himself then, and Edd valued his friendship all the more. Too bad that wasn't enough to stop Tom from leaving though. But Edd had vowed to better himself, and once Tom returns he will make it right with him.

He was so busy with his thoughts that Edd almost failed to acknowledge the sound of keys sliding on the lock of the apartment's front door. Ringo sat up with pricked ears, staring at the door in surprise. Edd followed his cat's instincts and immediately stiffened when he heard shuffling behind the other side of the entrance. Hope soared in his heart, though he kept his expression the same. _Could it be-?_ He longed to see his dear friend in the blue hoodie, spiky hair, and empty eyes stroll in and casually greet him; just so he could hug him tightly, tell him how sorry he is and just how much he missed him.

Needless to say, Edd wasn't at all surprised when it was revealed to be just Matt. Edd frowned and laid his head back down, already used to being disappointed.

Although he was still kind of mad at Matt for saying all those dumb, stupid things about Tom, the ginger haired man insisted in being around him at all costs. Edd avoided and ignored him at first when Matt would go back to saying those ridiculous things. Edd had made abundantly clear to Matt that he would not speak to him, unless he dropped the subject and accepted the way things are. Thankfully, Matt was quick to take the hint for once and never brought up the subject again unless it was to confirm Edd's beliefs. It may not be ideal, but it was better than to listen to Matt ramble on some nonsense about Tom never coming back.

 _He is coming back._ Edd echoed firmly.

"Hey!" Matt greeted him softly. The ginger haired man looked awfully pale, and instead of his usual attire he is wearing a long, dark coat over his purple hoodie. Edd did not greet him directly. Ringo, however, was quick to jump from his lap to welcome Matt by purring loudly while rubbing herself against his knees. _Traitor._ Edd narrowed his eyes at his cat, watching as Matt bent down to pet her with a chuckle. "Oh, hello there friendly chump! How are you?" He asks, moving to scratch beneath Ringo's chin. She mewed contently and coiled her striped tail around one of Matt's legs.

The ginger haired man glanced up, hoping to meet his friend's gaze but Edd had adverted his attention to the television with his arms crossed; electing to ignore him yet again. Matt tried not to feel hurt by the lack of response. He cleared his throat and stood up. He said nothing as he walked past the couch and made his way deeper into the not-so-abandoned apartment.

Edd's gaze followed Matt as he walked by. He scrunched his eyebrows in a mixture of confusion and curiosity. Just what was the ginger up to this time?

The purple hooded Brit made his way into his late-friend's bedroom. His eyelids felt heavy, and Matt wished he could simply fall over and get some rest; leaving all the problems of the real world behind. It didn't help that Tom's bed looked so tantalizingly appealing to his tired eyes. Matt shook his head, snapping out if his fatigued daze. He cannot rest yet. There is something really important that he must to do; something that he wished he could avoid doing but ultimately knows that it has to happen.

Since his first "confrontation" with Edd and seeing what became of his grief-stricken friend, Matt tried everything to make him see to reason but to no avail. It only caused him to shut Matt out further more. In order to keep himself from being shunned away completely so that he could still have a chance in helping Edd, Matt changed tactics and started to go along with his friend's hopeful rants and beliefs. It was the only way he could remain close to him, but whenever he had to pretend Matt always felt… Awful. He felt like he was using Edd, somehow, or taking advantage of his current condition. It left a bitter taste on Matt's mouth, to say the least.

Now, he will just have to go along for, hopefully, the last time. After this, things can finally run their proper course and they can move on from this overall terrible experience. Unfortunately though, things will never be the same ever again between them.

It's only Edd and him now.

Matt breathed out a sigh and walking into the pristine room. He had to admit, Edd made a great job in cleaning this place up. True, he's never been into Tom's room before… But he'd imagine it wouldn't be in the condition that it is now.

Reaching the foot of the bed, positioned right next to the window, Matt bent forward and grabbed the dishevelled looking plushie that laid with half its body underneath the covers, leaving only the head out and resting against the pillow as if the plushie itself was napping. Matt carefully stuffed it in his coat's pocket, cautious not to damage it any further than it already is.

Hearing footsteps stepping closer, Edd turned his attention back to the TV and pretended to be watching the show as Matt re-entered the living room. Through a quick side glance, Edd noted the way his friend had stuffed both his hands into his coat's pockets, and was shuffling on his feet with clear discomfort.

Edd raised one curious eyebrow at him.

Matt sighed. "Come on, Edd. Let's go out for a bit." He suggests, fumbling with his pockets. "It's the perfect weather right now to get some fresh air, and stretch your legs for a bit before the bloody rain comes back."

Edd shot him another quick glance, but did not turn to acknowledge him. "What for?" He prompted, kicking his leg up to lay it lazily over the coffee table. "I am fine with where I am, and honestly I don't feel like going out right now…"

"We're going to see Tom."

Not even an entire fraction of a second passed by and Edd had already bolted upwards from his position on the couch, and was staring at his friend with huge, wide eyes. Did he hear him right? Edd blinked, feeling confused and shocked at the same time. Surely this must be some sort of joke on him? He searched Matt's gaze, expecting to find humour in them, but was instead surprised to discover his blue eyes staring back at him with something akin to solace and warmth. "Y-you found him?" Edd stammered anxiously, feeling his heart hammering against his chest. "B- bu-but how? W-where? When? I-"

Something flashed within the ginger's eyes, but it came and went by so fast it was hard to even notice it happen to begin with. Matt nodded slightly and gave him a brief, reassuring smile. He extended his hand out towards Edd with a tiny chuckle. "It's alright, Edd." He told him softly once he noticed the brunet's spiralling emotions. "We'll get through this together."

Edd stared at his stretched-out hand, hesitant to take it. Don't get him wrong; Edd wants Tom back more than anything. However, would it really be that easy? There were so many things he wished to ask. And yet, even with doubts being thrown around in his head, Edd still couldn't help keep the joy and hope from swelling up inside of him, to the brink of making his heart burst. Although he felt tears pricking in his eyes, a smile stretched across his features as Edd wiped them away before they could properly form and he grabbed Matt's hand; hauling himself off the sofa.

"W-well what are we waiting for then?!" Edd exclaimed, his voice wavering with barely restrained excitement. "Let's go out and see him already!"

Shoving his shoes on, the brunet hastily got himself ready. He hurriedly re-filled Ringo's bowl of food, turned the TV off, and gave his hair a quick fix before grabbing Matt, and leaving out the door.

Stepping outside of the building they were immediately hit with a cold breeze that chilled their core. Matt shuddered at the bitter sting, and hugged himself for warmth. Puddles of water, formed by the extensive rainstorms, were scattered around the street and pavement. Cars passed by and rolled over the ponds, splashing water as they drove away. Small droplets of water that had gathered on the few remaining leaves, fell on their hair once in a while, as they walked down the street.

"So where is he?" Edd asks with enthusiasm. His brown eyes brighter than they have ever been in these last couple of weeks. "Is he at the police station? The hospital? The bar?"

"Tom is, well… he is waiting for us at Winchester park." Matt replied, albeit uneasily, as he led the way.

The name rang familiar in Edd's ears but he could not recognise it. He brushed the sensation off and kept walking, making sure to fall in step with his ginger companion to not lose sight of him.

"Have you seen him? How is he?" Edd bombarded Matt with anxious questions, not noticing him visibly wince.

For reassurance, Matt placed his hand inside his coat's pocket and squeezed the soft plushie he carried. "Yeah, I've seen him a couple of times." He sighs. "I know you'll find selfish of me to bring you to him only now after everything, but-" Matt paused, his words getting choked in his throat as he tried to recover.

A hand was gently placed upon his shoulder, taking him by surprise. Matt glanced behind him to lock gazes with Edd, who stared up at him with a sad smile. "It's okay. I understand." He murmurs softly. "You wanted to talk to Tom on your own, and sort things out between the two of you. It's alright." Matt winced again. _He isn't wrong._ He thought.

"Y-yeah." He replies; voice wavering for a tiny fraction.

"Matt?" Edd spoke up, adverting his gaze toward the ground. Matt stopped walking and turned to face his friend with a raised eyebrow, beckoning the brunet to go on. "I- I just wanted to tell you th-that I'm sorry." Edd continued. "I'm sorry for the way things have turned out, and for the way I have been… Treating you. You have always looked out for me, and in return I was ungrateful."

Despite his heart clenching even tighter inside his chest, and the cold static growing in the pit of his stomach; the ginger haired Brit still managed to give his friend a small, and yet reassuring grin. Matt bent forward and grabbed a hold of Edd's arm, gently tugging him along as they resumed walking. With every step they took, getting increasingly closer to their destination, the heavier the pressure became upon Matt's chest; to the point that even breathing was getting to be a struggle. But he still pressed on. _I don't want to hurt Edd._ He kept on insisting over his own contradicting worries. _But I have to do this. Sad as this may be, and no matter how hard Edd might take this; this has to happen. And then we can both move on!_

Unaware of Matt's troubling thoughts or of his newfound determination, Edd skipped after his friend. He took the time to admire his surroundings. The orange lighting of the setting sun made the town shine in a whole new light in Edd's eyes. Possibly because of his uplift in spirit at the prospect of seeing his dear good friend again.

However, his little excited steps progressively slowed down as they neared a large, open metal gate with the name: Winchester park; engraved on top of it in a morbid font.

Edd stared at the gate dumbfounded. A sick realization beginning to dawn on him as Matt kept on walking, making his way through the decaying grass field. Edd felt an uncomfortable chill crawl up his spine in apprehension as he froze at the very edge of the park's entrance, trembling and clenching his fists tight as sweat ran down his forehead. "M-Matt?" He tried to call out for his friend to come back, but his voice was merely a whisper against the howling wind whipping his hair around in the air.

His legs shook so much beneath his own weight due to weariness that Edd feared he would lose balance and fall over. Yet, he managed to keep himself steady. Swallowing the heavy lump that formed in his throat, Edd realized that Matt had stopped walking and was standing there; glancing over his shoulder and patiently waiting for him to follow. Edd wanted nothing more than to turn back and run away from this place, and never look back. But a tingling sensation in his mind popped up, gently prompting him to go forward. Hope fluttered back into his heart. _Maybe… Tom really is waiting for us here._

Feeling slightly confident with his reassuring, and yet deceitful thoughts, Edd stepped through the gate and into the open field; making his way towards Matt, who shot him a sympathetic look.

They walked side by side in silence, trekking along a trail between the tall encrypted stones surrounding them. Edd refused to look directly at any of the slates or statues; holding on tight to his hopeful expectations. But with every step taken, his hopes would diminish away in tiny amounts. Not a lot, but just enough for him to notice that his denial of the whole situation won't save him for what he's about to encounter. Edd's mind is a whirling storm inside his own head. No. Not a storm. But a war. Two sides fighting each other for different outcomes, and only one of them is the true winner as anxious, and dreadful thoughts that are well aware of reality are trying to scream the facts out, but they kept being continuously drowned out by other thoughts of blissful ignorance to calm his ever-worrying mind.

Climbing up the slope of a green hill, a weeping tree came into view. A few more monuments stretched out ahead of them, scattered all over the place in neat files that extend as far as the eye can see. Edd and Matt walked past the tree, weaving their way between the tall slates. Edd kept his head down, his bangs covering most of his eyes as he stared downwards. From the corner of his vision he managed to spot various flowers left at the foot of the stones.

He gulped, a heavy feeling of dread and apprehension rising within him, and completely overpowering whatever's left of his rapidly diminishing positive thoughts. Edd clenched his teeth, his hands curling into tight fists on either side of his body. His legs started to feel like piles of sandbags, and with each step he felt his feet drag across the decaying grass. Suddenly, the thought of turning back now and never return to see this place again made itself known yet again in his mind; and the idea sounded very appealing too. To go back to Tom's apartment, and wait in vain for him to come back just to keep the illusion going for a while longer until he was properly ready to face the harsh reality.

And yet… Edd pressed forward. Despite his resurfacing fears and panicking urges, he kept going. All that… just for a proper sense of closure.

Edd was so involved with his own thoughts, he failed to realize that Matt had stopped walking. Edd turned to look at him, seeing his friend uncharacteristically quiet and solemn looking. Matt's blue eyed gaze stared downwards with an expression of deep sorrow. Edd gulped. He knows what comes next. Trembling, he followed his friend's gaze until his brown eyes landed on a single, distinct shape standing right in front of them.

Tears begun to well up in his eyes at the sight before him.

A tall encrypted slab loomed over them. A neatly arranged bouquet of flowers was left at its base; yellow, blue, green and black roses. But it was the words embedded on the stone that made Edd's heart stop and his breath hitch.

In loving memory of…

Thomas Thompson

1990 – 2016

R.I.P.

It felt like an eternity went by with Edd just standing there and staring at the engraved words; memorizing every single detail, no matter how tiny or insignificant, until the image burned in his mind.

_This isn't real._

Edd trembled, his vision blurring due to the tears in his eyes.

_This can't be real!_

Next to him, Matt fumbled around with his coat's pocket. Although Edd did not take his eyes off the tombstone, he managed to see the ginger haired Brit pull something out of his pocket from the corner of his eye.

_How could this happen?_

Edd's eyes widened at the sight of the teddy bear. But this wasn't any teddy bear… it was Tomee bear.

 _How could_ _**I** _ _let this happen?_

He watched with quickened breaths as Matt stepped forward, bent down and carefully placed the old battered plushie next to the flowers by the foot of the slate. Taking a step back, Matt turned to face his companion. Edd's eyes are wide, glistening with tears and yet they were devoid of emotion as they kept fixated on their friend's tombstone. His mouth clenched, and his chest heaving rapidly.

_I wasn't good enough to save him._

Edd fell to his knees, tears streaming down his face. The grass and soil was still soggy due to all the rain from these past few days, and drenched his pants. He paid that no mind.

_I failed to save my friend!_

And with that thought, the heavily constructed dam that had previously been blocking the ever-growing flood of emotions he managed to neglect over the past few weeks; broke down and gave way to a furious torrent. Letting out a heart wrenching sob, Edd lurched forward and wrapped his arms around the tombstone. At last he faced reality and allowed himself to cry, letting go of his bottled-up emotions as he mourned the loss of his dear friend.

Matt stood little ways behind him, watching Edd break down before Tom's grave with great sadness. Despite having already mourn over Tom himself, Matt could not help the tears that pricked his eyes or the sniffles and tiny hiccups that escaped as he tried to swallow them down. In the end, he stood by as quietly as he could and permitted his friend to let it all out.

Little did they know; the two friends weren't the only ones in the graveyard.

From behind the weeping tree that they've passed earlier, a mysterious figure watched the scene play out. He kept his distance, but even from afar he managed to hear the heart-breaking sobs from the brunet. He felt a pang in his heart at the sound, but did not move away from his spot. The figure simply stood there. Hair swaying in the cool breeze, looking down the slope where the two Brits are.

If only they could know the truth about their friend… He shook his head at the silly thought. They'll only get in the way of his plans.

With every sob he let out, Edd's body would wrack with grief and more tears would gush out; trailing down his face until they reached his chin and fell to the ground. _I'm sorry!_ He screamed internally. _I never meant for any of this to happen! I should've done more!_

A hand gently moved to rest upon his shoulder, momentarily snapping him out of his breakdown. Through teary brown eyes, Edd glanced over his shoulder to meet with Matt's sympathetic blue one's. "We must be getting back now." He murmured, motioning towards the darkening sky up above; with clouds already gathering over the horizon, preparing to strike the town with yet another strike of rain. Edd opened his mouth, about to argue, but Matt beat him to it. "We can come visit him again tomorrow if you want. But it's getting late now." He gently added.

Though he wanted to stay longer, or better yet, not leave the grave site at all, Edd slowly nodded in agreement. He turned back to the tombstone. Clenching his eyes shut and tightening his grip around the slab, Edd tried to imagine he was hugging Tom instead. But it didn't have the smell of alcohol Edd grew so fond of over the years knowing Tom, nor could it hug him back awkwardly and reassure him that everything's gonna be okay. _Tom is dead._ Edd mused sadly. He gave the tombstone one last tight hug before letting go. _I miss you. I miss you so much!_

_Goodbye Tom…_

Rising to his feet, Edd cast the grave a wistful look before following Matt. He wiped the tears from his eyes with his sleeve, making a mess of things. Matt silently offered him a tissue, to which Edd gratefully took.

On their way back, when they passed by the weeping tree again, Edd stopped. The hairs of the back of his neck standing as he felt an intense stare burn his back. He knew this feeling; it's the sensation of being watched. Edd looked around, his eyes puffy red from crying so much, and his vision still somewhat blurred. There doesn't seem to be anyone else in the graveyard other than him and Matt.

"Edd?"

He turned back when Matt called out to him, gazing at him with curiosity and worry as he waited for him to follow suit.

Edd gave his surroundings another look, still finding nothing. "I'm coming." He sniffled, somewhat suspicious. He was sure he was being watched.

The two walked away, heading for the metal gate. The mysterious figure watched them leave from behind a statue of an angel. When he was sure they were gone, he stepped out from his hiding place. He stood still for a couple of moments, looking at where they had been previously standing.

Bowing his head in defeat and sighing, he slowly made his way over to the grave they were mourning over.

**(Meanwhile…)**

"Ouch!"

"Hold still!"

Wincing in pain, Tom obeyed Patrick's stern order as the Polish soldier applied an ice bag to his wounded head. After an hour and a half of just light exercises with Paul, Tom's limbs were painfully sore. They didn't do much, thankfully. Just a couple of stretches, jumping jacks, some failed push-ups, and a horrible attempt at the monkey bar that tragically, and yet admittedly comical, ended with him face planted to the ground and left him with the previously mentioned wound on his head.

Seeing the stunned Brit laying on the ground, barely moving, if at all; Paul panicked for a bit and called for Patrick's presence in the situation immediately. He soon arrived at the gym, calmed Paul down, and checked on Tom for any signs of a concussion. Thankfully, he doesn't have it, but the swollen wound on his head is really ugly.

"I can't believe you actually tried to have him do the monkey bar in the current condition that he is in!" Patrick complained, sitting next to Tom as he carefully applied the bag to diminish the nasty swelling.

"I didn't make him do it! I asked if he was up for it, and he said he could handle it!" Paul defended himself, still somewhat freaked out from the ordeal.

"You guys know that I am still here, right?" Tom spoke up dryly.

"Shush." Pat directed his attention back to him, narrowing his eyes slightly. "As for you; how could you have been so foolish to think that you could manage it? You know better!"

"I'm fine! Really, I am!" Tom exclaimed. "You're exaggerating. Besides, I had it perfectly under control!"

"Yeah, I can clearly see it by the tennis ball sized wound atop your head." Pat commented with dry humour in his voice, earning a small grumble of irritation from Tom. He let his eyes wander over the rest of the eyeless man's form.

Overall, Tom's appearance has changed for the better since he first arrived in the facility. His sickly pale skin is finally getting its proper colour back, the dark bags underneath his eyes had disappeared over time since he started using the Dreamcatcher, and Pat checked his weight weekly and was pleased to find that Tom has gained a substantial amount.

At this rate, Pat estimates that Thomas will be back to proper health in two months or so.

"Well, other than this nasty looking swell it appears that you are fine." Patrick deduced. "Are you capable of walking by yourself?"

Tom chuckled. "My head is hurt, not my legs. I can walk just fine." When Patrick shot him a doubtful look, Tom staggered to his feet and walked for a bit to prove his point; still holding the ice bag to his head. "See?"

"Fair enough." Pat crossed his arms. "But don't attempt to do that again, or I might just leave you lying on the floor with a possible concussion next time!" He threatened playfully.

Tom scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say, Pat!"

Across from both of them, Paul cleared his throat and rocked on his feet. "So, what do we do now?"

Patrick looked down at his watch. "I guess we can call it a day." He suggested. "Most of our tasks at the base are completed, the Lieutenants should have everything under control until lights out, and Tom's routine is done for today. So I guess it is one of those days."

Paul's eyes lit up like a child in Christmas eve. "You mean- ?"

Patrick nodded. "That's right."

The bushy eyebrowed soldier did a celebratory fist pump. "Yes!"

"Wait what? What's going on?"

Blurting out in confusion, Tom looked back and forth between the two Red army soldiers; waiting for an explanation.

"Oh forgive us Thomas! Allow me to elaborate." Patrick quickly says. "You see; on rare days such as this, when we complete all of our assignments under the time frame, by the end of the day we are left with a free window till lights out. So Paul and I usually use this time to do whatever we want until then."

"Huh." That was all Tom could say as he processed the new-given information. He blinked, and began to walk away with the ice bag. "Well, have fun you guys! I'm gonna be in my quarters, probably taking a nap or something, if you need me!"

As they watched him leave, Paul and Patrick turned to look at each other. For a couple of moments, they stared at each other in silence, realizing that they got the same idea in mind a smile stretched across their features.

"Hey Tom!" Paul called out, halting the Brit in his tracks. Tom glanced back at him questioningly. "Would you like to join us?"

Taken by surprise by the invitation, Tom reared back in shock and his empty sockets widened. "I- uh- what- I mean? I guess I could? - I mean? Uh…"

Paul and Patrick shared amused expressions as Tom continued to stutter in his attempts to make intelligible words. "Don't you get bored staying in your quarters and do nothing but sleep and shower the rest of the day?" Paul asks, raising one of his eyebrows.

Tom rubbed the back of his neck. He has a point. His daily routine mostly consisted of eating and sleeping, and not much else. Of course there are his sessions with Pat, and the physical workouts with Paul; but they aren't everyday occurrences. And Tom doesn't have much else to do other than simply sleep and shower to pass the time.

"Yeah, I guess I do." Tom admitted. "But, I mean… Am I even allowed?"

"Of course you are!" Paul assures, stepping up to stand in front of him with Patrick by his side. "You behaved the whole time since Tord left! Plus, we believe you could use a break."

"That's right. Regardless of how you may see this chance, a reward or a break, a change of pace would be great for you." Patrick added.

"Well, uh, okay then. I guess I could… Hang out?"

Paul beamed in excitement. "Splendid!" He tugged on one of Tom's bandaged arms and began to lead him out the gym and into the long hallways. Tom nearly stumbled and fell, trying to keep up with Paul's fast strides as he kept his strong grip on him.

"Slow down, Paul." Pat advised, coming up from behind. "He is still recovering from his fall. Not to mention his arms are in a delicate state."

"Ops! Sorry!"

Paul was quick to let go of Tom, and he walked at his own pace; rubbing his sore arm he gave a grateful nod at Patrick. They kept on walking. With Paul on the lead, and Pat at the back, Tom walked between the two of them feeling out of place and maybe even a little bit nervous.

"So, uh, what do you guys usually do when you get free time?" He asks.

"Watch movies or play video games, mostly!" Paul replies, glancing back at him over his shoulder.

"Doesn't Tord get mad at you guys for fooling around?"

He nearly jumped when Pat began to laugh. "Not at all! In fact, on the rarer occasion when he gets free time as well, he usually joins us." He responded. "It's not often that we get the chance to hang out together, so we make the most of the opportunity when it presents itself."

"And if Tord finds out about me hanging out with you guys, won't he be furious then?" The last thing Tom needs right is to cause trouble for them. Not that he cares for to them; they did kidnap him after all. But he much rather be in their company than in Tord's, additionally because they have been nothing but kind since the Norsk left, so Tom would be damned if he brings Tord's wrath down on them just because he was bored.

Bringing him out of his thoughts, Paul wrapped an arm around Tom's shoulder in reassurance. "Trust us; he won't!" He says. "Tord left us in charge of taking care of you and the whole base. As long as you are with us he won't mind at all."

"If you say so…"

They trekked through the long, empty hallways; with Tom occasionally asking them about their daily routine in the base and what it is required for them to do, and they politely answered him as best they could. At last, they reached the familiar looking oak door and turned the knob; entering Patrick's study where he and Tom usually have their sessions. They crossed the room over to the wooden door on the opposite side.

Paul led the way, pushing the door and keeping it open for Tom and Pat to walk through. The white tiled room Tom only caught glimpses of whenever Patrick would go in and out with his special drink, turned out to be a kitchen. A shiny, dark marble balcony on the left that stretched all the way from one wall to the other and curved into a small "L" shape at the end, with cabinets, and a dishwasher beneath it. Cupboards hanging off the wall, a tall ebony fridge standing across from where they entered the room, a glossy silver sink, and an oven in pristine condition. In the centre of the kitchen, a marble island with black cushioned stools, a fruit basket, and a wooden cutting board.

Looking at the fancy kitchen with awe, Tom turned back to the two soldiers. "So now what?"

They exchanged a look between themselves before Patrick clasped his hands together. "Well, usually we would cook up some tasty treat for us to enjoy while we entertain ourselves." He commented, walking over to the cabinet next to the fridge. "Any ideas or preferences?"

"Oh! I know! How about chocolate cake?" Paul suggests.

A hum was emitted from the Polish man and he shook his head. "Sorry Paul, there isn't any chocolate powder left. We're in need of restock." He glanced back at him apologetically. "How about we have apple pie instead? We do have all the ingredients we need for it…"

"Sure!"

"Are you fine with apple pie, Tom?"

For the second time that day, Tom glanced up in surprise. "Yeah, fine by me." He murmured, still somewhat taken back by the situation he was in. "I will eat just about whatever you decide to make."

"You don't have any allergies, do you?"

Tom shook his head.

"It's settled then. Apple pie it is!" Pat exclaims, grabbing the ingredients needed from the cabinet, and then proceeding to grab a bowl from one of the cupboards above. "Hey Paul, while I get things started here why don't you show Tom around our quarters?" He suggested.

"Alright! Come along, Tom!" Carefully tugging on the Brit's bandaged arm, Paul led the way out of the kitchen through the large opening on the right side of the room. "That was the kitchen, obviously. And here's the living room! It's where we usually hang out."

Immediately drawing Tom's attention as he entered the room, a 75-inch flat screen TV hung upon the wall and was connected to several different consoles and other equipment that were placed on the drawer directly beneath the TV. A long, beige couch stretched out in front of the television with burgundy pillows neatly placed over it, and a coffee table standing in the middle of the room over a white, fluffy looking carpet.

Looking around the room in awe, Tom's gaze met Paul's. "I take it your impressed?" He prompted curiously, raising one bushy eyebrow with a small smile; rather amused with Tom's silent astonishment.

"Woah! You guys have a great set up here." The eyeless man states, taking a few steps farther into the room as he observed his surroundings. "Man, I definitely underestimated the perks of being a test subject!" He joked sarcastically.

"Oh well, I'm glad that you liked it." Paul motioned towards a door, little ways behind them. "The bathroom is over here, if you need it." He headed down a small hallway that ended with another door. "And that's our room at the end there." He turned back to face Tom, and casually walked closer to him. "How's your head? Do you need more ice for that?"

"Nah, I think I'm fine." Tom shook his head, gingerly placing down the empty bag that contained nothing but cold water inside.

"Is it hurting at all?" Paul carefully grabbed a hold of his head, and gently tilted it downwards as he took a closer look at the wound on his head. Tom blinked in surprise at the unexpected gesture; more so with how delicately the Red army commander was handling him. For a moment, he thought of pushing the man away, but for some odd reason he couldn't really bring himself to. Tom shrugged, reasoning he was just tired after the long day and didn't want to ruin his chances of doing something fun for once now that he is there, at their invitation. After a few decisive moments checking up on him, Paul stepped back and took the empty bag from him, moving back into the kitchen. Not wanting to be left behind in the strange and cosy environment, Tom followed him.

"Ah Paul, do you mind grabbing some cinnamon from the canteen, please?" Patrick requested politely. Various ingredients laid out across the counter before him. "I have everything else I need except for the cinnamon."

Almost instantly, Paul's shoulders sagged and he frowned. "Is cinnamon absolutely necessary for the pie? I sure can live without it, and I think Tom won't mind either." He complained.

Pat threw him a stern look. "Paul…"

"What? Don't blame me!" The red army commander crossed his arms and pouted. "The cafeteria is so far away, and even when we are free of tasks the other army members keep pestering me about stuff I most likely won't know how to resolve!"

Shooting him a sympathetic glance, Patrick gave him a brief hug and a small pat on the back. He rolled his eyes. "Don't be such a baby." He teased. "It's a quick walk if you hurry; you'll be back before you know it. And then you can relax as much as you want!"

Breathing out a sigh, Paul backed away. "I guess I'll just have to use my amazing stealth skills and expertise to manoeuvre my way around the base to go unnoticed!" A cheeky grin stretched across his face, wriggling his eyebrows in an exaggerated manner towards Pat; who rolled his eyes in response, but a tiny grin formed on his face as he gave Paul's shoulder a light punch. "One packet of cinnamon coming right up!" And with that, Paul walked past Tom, whistling as he left the room.

Tom followed his movements into the living room, where Paul halted in front of a wall and pressed his hand against it. Confused by his actions at first, Tom blinked and emitted a barely audible gasp when the wall opened up to reveal a small elevator; where Paul walked in, pressed one of the buttons and disappeared as the wall closed up again.

"Why do you guys have another elevator here?" Tom asks incredulously. Although he was not allowed to use it, he had taken notice of the lift at the end of one of the immense hallways of the lab he was confined to during his many strolls around the facility.

"It's a short-cut, but it only leads to Red leader's office." Pat's response echoed from the kitchen. "Paul will have to make his way around the base to reach the canteen and back here. But at least the odds of bumping into people lessen this way."

Shifting his gaze back to the wall where the secret elevator resided, Tom's eyebrows quirked upward in surprise. And to think, Tord is usually just a lift away from where he resides. "Let me guess; he likes to be at a close distance to his experiments?" He questions dryly, walking back into the kitchen.

"Certainly! Our leader always holds a keen interest in the development of all his creations." Patrick replied, looking up from his work in separating the ingredients on one side of the counter while he got some apples. "But then again, it is a short-cut to hang out whenever he gets free time without being disturbed by people along the way. So there's that as well." He added, then turned his gaze onto Tom. "Would you mind lending me a hand with this?"

"Huh?"

"While we wait for Paul to return with the cinnamon, we can get started with the rest of what we have here." The Polish man calmly explained to him. "I'll peel and cut the apples, while you mix all of the ingredients together. Think you can manage?" He opened one of the drawers and handed him a whisk. "I've already taken the liberty of taking the right measurements of each of the ingredients, so that leaves you with the easy part."

Somewhat dumbfounded by the sheer scenario he was put in; baking an apple pie with the soldiers who kidnapped him while simultaneously hanging out with them, Tom stretched out his hand to take the kitchen utensil from Pat, but was interrupted when said man cleared his throat. Tom gazed up in confusion. "What?"

Tilting his head sideways, Pat motioned towards the sink and then pointed at his hands. Tom got the message, giving a low grunt of annoyance but complied with the request anyway. It's the least he can do after being invited here.

As he turned on the tap, and washed his hands under the freezing, cold water, Tom felt the sudden urge to burst into laughter. _What the hell am I doing?_ He never could've imagined he would ever find himself in his current situation. _Is this for real? Is this really happening?_ After all the hardships he had to endure thus far; cooking, seems so out of the ordinary from his usual painful routine. It felt like an alien concept being taught to him for the very first time.

He turned off the tap water, and grabbed a hold of a towel next to him; drying off his hands. Tossing the towel away, Tom stepped closer to the balcony where the ingredients were waiting for him. He began to pour them into the empty bowl; starting off with the flour.

"So, how are you holding up thus far?" Cutting the silence short, Patrick shot Tom a brief side-glance.

He shrugged. "I admit, this situation is very odd." Tom replied, pouring sugar into the bowl. "I never got to really cook before. I think the last time I did, I was helping my mom out in the kitchen. And I was like- what? 7 or 8 more or less?" Fond memories of his childhood flooded him. Being a pesky, and excitable little kid standing on his tippy toes as he watched his mom cook before offering to help her out.

"How about everything else?" Pat added, rinsing the apples in the sink.

Now it was Tom's turn to shoot him a quick side-glance, as he added butter into the mixture. "If you're talking about the wound on my head, it stopped hurting a while ago."

"That's not what I meant."

Tom's dark sockets drifted away from his task, and watched Patrick pull out a knife from one of the drawers from the corner of his vision before expertly peeling the apples. "Then what exactly do you mean?" He demands, fixing his gaze on the blade that cut through the fruits with such a masterful precision.

Blinking out of his focus, Tom paid attention to the current discussion as he returned to the task at hand.

"How are you adapting to your new life? You seem to have accepted your fate without too much of a fuss." Patrick elaborates, tossing the peels into the trash before cutting slices out of the apple in his hands.

"What? Are you disappointed I haven't tried to escape, or something?" Tom retorts, his voice all bark but no actual bite to it.

"No- no, of course not. I just mean that in a general term." Pat corrects, dropping the slices of apple into a separate bowl and throwing away the remains. "What you've done wasn't easy. Not for anyone. I am merely concerned with the side-affects that this type of transition; heck, this type of situation could affect you in."

Mixing the last of the ingredients together in the bowl, creating a dry dough, Tom clenched his jaw. _I wonder who's fault is that!_ He wanted to say, but maintained himself quiet. Last thing he needs right now is to get kicked out and have a guilt trip about it later. Patrick is, after all, one of two people he gets along with in this base. Tom scoffed. "Don't take this the wrong way, or anything, but why exactly does it matter to you? If the Red Army gets what they need in the end, my condition shouldn't be important then."

"That may be so." Patrick soothed. "But that does not stop us from caring about you regardless, Tom. It is only natural to grow attached when you spent so much of your time with an individual that was put into your care. Even if it was by orders, and the circumstances are less than ideal."

The words that were forming in Tom's mouth evaporated into thin air right at the tip of his tongue. His black empty sockets are wide with bewilderment. Care? _Impossible._ The concept was strange to him. Not that Tom was incapable of caring, no, far from it. The truth is that he does care. He cares a lot more than he lets on. However, that isn't the issue here. The real strange thing to him was being in the receiving end of the care spectrum. It's not often, if at all, that Tom is placed in said position. Sure, there were many times that Edd and Matt showed comradery and affection for him. But even so… Tom fears otherwise. He does not blame them either; Tom hates himself too. And now to think, that Pat and additionally Paul, have grown attached to him in the short amount of time- Well, at least Tom hopes it's been a short time, he can't really tell otherwise, since he'd lost all sense of time from the get-go- is just unbelievable.

So how come Tom's heart is fluttering inside his chest with a small, warm, elevating tingle? Doing his best to ignore the fuzzy sensation, Tom suppressed it and turned his overall demeanour back to neutral. "Yeah right." He scoffed softly, padding the dry dough into the dish to create what would later become the pie's crust. "Don't be so dramatic, Pat. Or else I might just start to think you are getting soft on me."

Breathing out a small sigh, Patrick rolled his eyes. "If you're so sure about that." He murmured quietly. "And what about your friends? I'm sure you must miss them a lot even though you have, not once, mentioned them the entire time since you got here."

Grateful his back is turned, Tom flinched slightly at their mention. "Well, of course I-"

"ARGH! Shi- _Kurwa_!"

The sudden loud sound of a knife clattering against the marble balcony, along with Patrick's spontaneous hissed out curse of pain made Tom jump in alarm. He whipped around, only to freeze and tense up in shock. Blood was leaking and dripping down Pat's hand, as he clutched it tightly to his chest.

"God damnit." Patrick continued to curse, more in annoyance than so in pain, as he inspected his injured hand. He then turned away to the sink to wash out the blood.

With gaze locked on his back as Pat kept muttering to himself, Tom slowly backed away. His black empty eyes wide, and he trembled ever so slightly from head to toe. The copper, tangy smell of blood, hit his nostrils as Tom's breathing quickened, and it began to flood his senses. Tom's eyelids fluttered shut in a dazed state of intoxication, and for a brief moment there, he found himself relishing in the familiar scent.

Snapping out of the trance the smell of blood put him under, Tom slapped a hand over his mouth and nose, and hurried out the kitchen only to run into Paul.

"Oh, hey Tom!" He greeted the panicked looking Brit. "I brought the cinnamon!" He showed the packet in his hand, before his eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he took a double-take on Tom's facial expression. "What's wrong?"

Gasping for air as he hyperventilated, Tom tried to conjure up proper words and explain the situation. But his mouth is dry and he's having a hard time maintaining focus. "I- pf- Pat- sh- I- uh" Tom shook his head. He suddenly grabbed a hold of Paul's shoulders and started to shake him with exasperation. "Patrick is bleeding!" Was all he managed to say, as he let go of Paul and resumed his struggle to keep calm.

Hearing a gasp from Paul, Tom watched him hurry into the kitchen. He did not stay long to watch what happens next, after that. Tom made his way into the bathroom; slamming the door shut, locking it behind him, and then having his back pressed against it.

He clenched his eyes shut, breaking into cold sweat as he attempted to bring his breathing back to normal. However, no matter how much he breathed his lungs consistently felt depraved of oxygen. Tom stumbled forward, grabbing onto the sink to keep himself steady, and leaning forward as he dry-heaved.

Tom kept remembering the smell. It was just a tiny cut, there wasn't even that much blood flowing out of Pat's hand; and yet, that small bleeding cut was enough to throw Tom off. Lurching forward he retched. Tom clasped a hand over his mouth, trying to contain from being too loud for any prying ears that might be listening out there. He continued to heave and gulp, nothing but drool spilling out from his mouth; sticky saliva coating his fingers.

Gagging and gasping, Tom turned the sink's faucet, and began to frantically splash cold water onto his face repeatedly. _Stay calm. Keep cool. Get a hold of yourself!_ He kept telling himself, panting heavily while also slapping his own face. But in doing so, Tom glanced up and accidentally made eye contact with his reflection. He froze; black sockets staring back at each other through the mirror until Tom could've sworn he saw the flection form a sickening grin, consisting of razor teeth, and the previously aforementioned dark holes for eyes flashing a deep shade of purple for a brief second.

At once, his body shuddered with great intensity and Tom's heart turned cold; freezing it in place, and knocking all the wind out of him before it came back to life, and gave a massive leap into his chest. Moaning with pain, Tom clutched his chest and kneeled down, still holding on to the sink.

Tom panted, his head leaning forward as he stared at the ground wide-eyed. His vision was shaky, getting increasingly blurred with the familiar dark haze taking over his sight. It is one of these moments when Tom wished he was in possession of a sharp object right now…

An abrupt knock on the door brought him out of it.

"Tom? Are you okay in there?"

Tom gasped, feeling the effects cease and allowing him to go back to normal. Tom swallowed, his mouth and throat insanely dry. "I'm fine, Paul!" He replied, his voice hoarse. "It's just the withdrawal acting up again!" He lied, his breathing still ragged. "I'll be out in a moment."

Holding his breath, Tom listened for footsteps distancing themselves away from the bathroom. Once he was sure that Paul was gone, Tom went back to regaining his breath. He felt drained from strength, and when Tom tried to get up his legs buckled beneath his weight and he sat back down. Wincing with effort, he used the sink as support and scrambled to his feet. Tom was careful not to commit the same mistake twice, and he kept his gaze fixed downwards onto the rushing water of the tap.

Tom resumed washing his face, his thoughts troubled with dismay. _That was a close call. Too close!_ Tears pricked the corner of his eyeless sockets, and he fought the urge to sob. _I'm such an idiot!_ He seethed silently. _And to think that I had any chance of being normal, even if for just a while! I'm a fool._ Tom's heart rate steadied into a slow rhythm, and his breathing fell in a comfortable pace. Turning the faucet off, and dried his face with a towel. _I can't do this. Clearly coming here was a mistake!_ He decided. _I will go out there, and tell them that I'm not feeling so good. They'll understand, right? Then they can enjoy their free time without me._

Tom made sure his appearance looked adequate before he unlocked the door and left the bathroom. The excuse he had prepared died on his tongue at the sight he was met with.

Facing toward the TV and away from him, Paul and Patrick are sitting on the couch; awfully close to one another as they conversed quietly. Tom approached them wearily, unsure whether to speak up or not, but decided for the latter. He gulped, and took a tentative whiff of the air surrounding him; relieved to find that the scent of blood has been replaced with a much warmer, and pleasant salty smell.

"Does it hurt still?" Paul whispered worriedly.

Tom focused on the pair of soldiers on the couch, standing like a statue in the corridor as he listened to their conversation.

"Don't be silly. I told, it was just a little cut!" Pat chuckled soothingly. "I'm fine. Thanks for helping, Paul."

Even standing a few feet behind the couch, Tom could see Paul shuffle a little closer to Patrick. "Do you want me to kiss it to make it better?" Next thing he knows, Pat scoffs and throws a light punch at Paul, who giggles in return. "I can give as many kisses as you want, just to make you better!" He teased Pat, who had crossed his arms. For some reason, Tom imagined the dignified Red Army General adverting his gaze away from the Commander, and with a light pink tint flushing in his cheeks.

Paul laughed again, and he enveloped his arms around Pat to cuddle closer, who in turn bent down to give the top of his head a small peck.

Watching them interact this way made Tom's face heat up with embarrassment. He felt like he was intruding in on them. _All the more reason to leave them alone._ Tom stepped back until he was next to the bathroom door, to which he opened and closed again rather loudly to announce his presence in the room.

The two soldiers looked up at him in surprise.

"Ah Tom! Glad you're alright!" Paul greeted him. "Are you feeling better now?" Tom nodded. He was just about to speak, when Paul beat him to it. "You were looking awfully pale when I came back, so I was kind of worried for you."

"I- uh I'm fine now, thanks. But i-"

"Oh! And don't worry about the pie. Paul and I finished the remaining touches while you were in the bathroom." Patrick added, interrupting him. "It's in the oven right now. It should be done in in a few minutes."

"And we made popcorn!" Paul exclaims, picking up the overflowing bowl and handing it out to him.

Still shaken from the whole ordeal, Tom gingerly accepted the offer and grabbed a little bit in his hand. He turned his gaze onto Patrick, his sight landing on the injured hand. "Are you okay?" He couldn't help but ask.

"No worries. I am good as new! See?" Patrick responded by showcasing his bandaged hand. "Like I said to Paul; it was just a measly little cut. A stupid mistake of mine, if nothing else." He tsked. "Such a nuisance."

Paul clasped a hand on his shoulder. "Come now, don't be so hard on yourself." He comforted. "You were always a bit too cocky with knives anyway, you were bound to cut yourself sooner or later! You were just lucky that it happened while the boss is gone, otherwise you wouldn't hear the end of it." He teased, muffling a giggle as Pat faced him with a deadpanned expression.

"Cloudberg."

Paul snorted with laughter, while Tom simply stood there in confusion, and yet amused by their interaction.

"Anyways, now that you're here we can pick which game to play!" Paul announces, wiping away an invisible tear in his eye.

"Actually guys, I have been thinking and-"

"Here! These are all the games we have." Paul stood up from the sofa, and crouched down beneath the Television to open up the drawer. Peering over his shoulder, Tom was perplexed to find various types of games lined up in a neat roll. "You can take first pick."

"Huh?"

"Usually when we hang out, we sort ourselves to take turns in picking what we're doing. Whether it be watching a film or a game." Patrick explained, still sitting on the couch. "Since this is your first time here, you should get the honors of going first."

Tom looked at him with bewilderment, then turned his gaze down to the pile of games in the drawer. He wanted to tell them no. That he couldn't stay here any longer. _For fear of accidentally hurting them._ Tom blinked. Now where did that come from? Tom doesn't care about them… Does he? They kidnapped him! And just look at where he is now because of them.

However, with that said, Tom hasn't forgotten how they've shown him plenty of kindness ever since he got here. And in hindsight, there isn't any reason for it. And yet they respect his boundaries, and treat him with patience. They invited him to hang out with them. Surely this must mean something?

After a few more moments of hesitation, Tom analysed the collection of games. There were a few titles that he recognised among the selection, but in the end, he picked a random race game; the cover bright and colourful. He really needed something fun and uplifting after the recent episode he just had.

"I'll pick this one, If that's alright." Tom decided.

Paul nodded, taking the game from him and loading into the console. Tom sat on the far end of the couch, while Pat is on the opposite side. He offered the Brit some more popcorn, to which Tom gladly took. After inserting the game disc in, Paul skipped back to the sofa and sat between the two; handing a controller each. The main menu came on screen and they pressed start, choosing their characters and race track. At first, Tom kept mostly to himself. Staying silent with a few quips here and there. But as the game progressed, he found himself having fun alongside the two soldiers. They joked, laughed, cheered, cursed, and eventually ate the apple pie they made.

_I want to pretend to be normal for a while longer. Just this once._

It was a very enjoyable evening overall, despite Tom's earlier issues. For the first time in a long while, Tom had actually found himself having fun.

**(Meanwhile…)**

It is another cold and rainy night in the English town. The city's residents aren't fazed by the bad weather at this point. They just went about their own, usual way with a shrug of the shoulders; maybe even uttering a curse or two of annoyance at the rampant storms.

Staring out the window, watching the heavy rain splatter the glass and the branches of a nearby tree swaying against the strong wind; a pair of tired brown eyes blinked in the dark with only the lighting coming from outside to light the room.

When the duo returned from their trip to the cemetery, Edd had come to accept the fact that Tom is dead and he won't ever come back. Matt comforted him as best he could, even offering to stay the night with him. Edd appreciated the gesture but refused the offer. He wanted to spend one last night in Tom's apartment before going back to his own for good. Like a one last bid of farewell before he was ready and fully committed to move on with his life.

Despite the closure he had earlier, Edd's heart still ached with the loss. It had been weeks, and he could still detect a faint trace of Tom's scent lingering around the apartment.

It won't be long now for it to fade away completely.

Even when all was said and done Edd could not, for the life of him, settle down and go to sleep. He feels tired, and restless and the same time. Edd fears that if he were to close his eyes and sleep now all of his memories of Tom will disappear for good. A childish fear? Perhaps. But one he does not want to risk.

Ringo, his faithful feline companion, was curled up and pressed against his side and snored softly. Edd glanced at his pet with envy. He wished he could have that easy life. Edd stroked Ringo's gray tabby fur, earning a low purr in response.

Once again, Edd tried to close his eyes and go to sleep. He hasn't gotten a proper night's rest for many days now, so in theory this shouldn't be hard to achieve. Edd tossed, fidgeted, and turned around in the bed but nothing seemed to help.

Giving up on his failed attempts of going to sleep, Edd decided to do the next very best thing.

Walk.

He hopped off the bed and got himself dressed, putting on a dark coat over his green hoodie. Since he first received the news about Tom, Edd had taken the habit of taking long walks after dark. Sometimes he would search for Tom, in hopes of finding and bringing him home; but it was mostly to cope.

Ringo sat up, taking notice of her owner's warmth and presence that was previously laying next to her is now absent. She mewed questioningly, tilting her head as she watched her owner dress. Edd patted Ringo's head in a soothing motion, silently reassuring the cat that he'll be back.

With that, Edd grabbed his keys, pulled on the hood over his head, and walked out of the apartment.

**(Meanwhile…)**

Not far from where the duo resides, a humble looking bar stood in the street's corner. The sign flashing above read "Mustacheos Bar", with a few letters missing due to its cheap lights failing to turn on during the rainstorm.

Suddenly, the bar's doors swung open and a blonde man was tossed out roughly into the streets, being shoved to the ground next to some trash cans and bags. The man wore a dark overcoat and jeans, as he held a bottle of beer in one of his hands.

"And don't come back here again! You hear me?!" The bar manager shouted.

Wincing at the landing, Reagan took a swig of the bottle before throwing the man a glare. "I was just leaving. You didn't kick me out, I left cause' I wanted to!" He shouts drunkenly. "And guess what? I wouldn't want to come back to this sh#t hole anyway cuz the beer ain't all that special! It's too f#ckin' expensive for plain bottled up piss!"

"You drank nearly five bottles!" The manager angrily argues. "That's the sixth one you are holding onto, you slimy little pest!"

"Yeah? Good for me I guess. Hurray!" Reagan slurs, throwing his hands in the air in a lazy cheer. The manager grunts and storms back into the bar, slamming the door shut on the way in. Reagan scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Arse hole." He spat, taking another long swig at the bottle.

Next to him, a strange and sinister looking figure rose up from a trash can; wearing a red sweater, a brown trenchcoat, and fedora. The tramp also sports ginger hair, bushy eyebrows and heterochromatic eyes.

Reagan looked up, seemingly unfazed by the man's weird appearance.

"You stink." The beggar bluntly states.

Reagan stared at him. "Well, look who's talking!" He retorts. "As far as I'm concerned you don't smell like a pile of daisies either, so that makes us two stinkers."

The sinister bum blinked. "Got a dollar?"

"… No."

Scrambling clumsily to his feet, Reagan stood up swaying from side to side as he regained his footing. Chuckling and emitting a rather loud burp, he churned the bottle in his hand to take another sip.

He had arrived in town not too long ago to fulfil the designated task assigned to him; find five recruits and persuade them to join the Red Army. Reagan gladly accepted the mission, but he knows that Red Leader just wanted to get rid of him for a while. That's fine, Reagan can't say he blames the boss there.

The recruitment program takes a very long while to complete. From finding the perfect target, to slowly infiltrating into their lives, and then finally the big decisive moment that determines whether they want to join the army or not. However, Reagan may or may not have broken protocol by targeting multiple people at the same time. He detests wasting time and he lacks the patience to spend his efforts on one target at a time. So to hurry things along, Reagan cheated the system a little and already got himself four targets; whom he shadowed for a couple of days to observe their routine and have a better insight in their lives before fully inserting himself in it.

Things were looking up for him. However, he has yet to find the fifth, and final target. Reagan has walked through town from top to bottom, observing the people around him with a keen eye. He had stalked a few potential candidates, but they didn't meet the army's standards. So he kept on searching.

Heck, If the army wasn't so damn picky, Reagan would've offered the position to the creepy looking homeless guy next to him just so he could get the job done; but something told him that the man may not be completely stable.

Tipping the bottle all the way, Reagan drained every last drop of beer that it contained until it was empty. As he did so, Reagan hardly acknowledged a figure walk past him.

When he is in the beer zone, nothing else matters until he's done.

"Hey buddy! Do you got a dollar?" He heard the sinister beggar ask. Next thing Reagan hears is the sound of hands fumbling against pockets before the distinctive noise of wrinkling paper appears. "Oh wowee! This must be my lucky day or somethin'!" The tramp tipped his hat. "Thank yah good hearted fella!"

"You're welcome, I guess?" A soft voice mumbled.

Reagan was looking through the bottle, checking if there was any beer left, when he stiffened at the sound of the voice. It was… familiar. Reagan is sure he heard it somewhere before.

Turning around, Reagan only saw the figure of a man, wearing a dark coat with his hands stuffed inside the pockets as he walked away. Squinting his eyes against the drizzling rain, Reagan spotted a green hood over the guy's head.

The voice… and a green hood…

Reagan snapped his fingers as recognition flashed in his mind. He hasn't forgotten his favourite moment from the last mission he went to! No. Reagan would never forget such amusing reactions so easily!

He watched the man, Mr Gold if his wasted mind is right, walk away. Reagan observed his posture; noting the subtle way his head was slightly bent downwards. That's usually a sign of weakness, or at the very least means that he's deep in thought.

_He probably hasn't gotten over it._

An idea popped up in Reagan's head as soon as the thought drifted away. Here he is, in the middle of the street, in the rain, without any beer left and with nothing else to do. Might as well take this opportunity to get back to work. Who knows? Maybe he won't waste his time with this one.

Tossing the bottle away, the glass shattering upon contact with the ground, Reagan adjusted his coat and proceeded to tag along; making sure to stay far enough not to be noticed but still sufficiently close so as to not lose sight of his target.

Edd continued to walk down the street, unaware that he was being followed. After several minutes, he finally arrived at his destination. Edd breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of the open gate. For a brief moment there, Edd feared he might've had to break in.

He passed through the gate, and not so far behind, Reagan followed. The Irish man raised one eyebrow with curiosity as he observed the engraved letters on top of the entrance. _Winchester park, eh?_ He mused. _Sounds like fun._

Strolling through the cemetery in the dark of the night, Reagan hurried along the rolls of tombstones; reading some of them as he passed by. Looking up he was momentarily worried he lost sight of Edd, but through a quick scout of the area Reagan found him kneeling down in front of a grave.

He moved slightly closer, and quickly hid behind one of the tombstones. From this distance, Reagan could hear faint murmuring coming from the brunet. He peeked over the slate and observed the scene; a hand behind one of his ears to hear him better above the sound of rain.

"Hey Tom." Edd murmured. "I know I came to visit you earlier with Matt, but I couldn't sleep. I… I thought if I were to come and see you again, it would make things better." He paused, taking a wavering breath with a sigh. "I don't know what I'm gonna do without here, to be completely honest. It's only Matt and I now, and none of us are like you. Strong."

 _This is kind of depressing._ Reagan frowned, and then shrugged with indifference. _But pretty useful too._

Edd chuckled softly. "Out of all of us, you were always the one who kept calm no matter how dangerous the trouble we got in was." He went on, his eyes starting to water. "You were also the bravest. The way you faced off against… the- that giant robot. I wish I could be half as great as you were." He sniffled, wiping away some of the tears that were threatening to spill. "I want to move on, Tom. I really do. But I don't wanna forget about you either, you know? I promise I'll come visit you, but I don't think I can go on like this. For Matt's sake, I will try my best to get better from here. You understand, right?"

Listening in this rather intimate little moment, the gears inside Reagan's head shifted as he processed all of the given information; learning what he could solely based on the man's grieving words. Reagan grinned maliciously, and his vibrant green eyes glinted.

It would seem he found his fifth candidate at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did I say about hating Reagan? I did warn you guys.
> 
> So that is all for this chapter. I hope you guys enjoyed it, and once again; thank you all so much for the support you've shown me and the story. It really means a lot to me.
> 
> Special shout out to my dear good friend, @juh-britto. She helped me plenty of times during the creation of this story, and this chapter in definitely no exception! You can thank both her and I for the graveyard scene near the beginning of the chapter. YOU'RE WELCOME!
> 
> Follow me on tumblr @Heather1815 if you want. You can submit fanart to me there, and ask me questions. (But be warned, if you ask me anything too spoilery I might just have to retaliate by showing you a picture of my dogs.) Happy freaking Halloween to you all, and I'll see yah guys later! ;)


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom gets an unpleasant visit from someone he thought long gone, a flashback to the good ol' days, and Edd tries to move on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! This is Flower1815 here bringing you a new chapter of MLTS! I am so sorry for making you all wait so long for a new chapter. I had planned to post this during Christmas, but family matters hardly gave me enough time to write; so I postponed it, but life kept getting in the way. Another reason it took so long to post this chapter was because it went through so many countless re-writes. Seriously, if I were to include all the scrapped scenes in this, it would be 60000 words long. I wrote and re-wrote this chapter a lot just to get it right. I hope you guys can forgive me for the long wait I put you through, and that my hard work is enough to make it up.
> 
> Tord doesn't show up in this chapter, but we do get to learn a few things about Tom, and *spoiler alert* the plot thickens with Edd. This is the last "filler" chapter and Tord will be back next chapter to resume with the central plot now that the side-one has been set in motion.
> 
> Also, please check out my friend's official artwork of Reagan: http://juh-britto.tumblr.com/post/169786432525/heather1815-there-you-go-your-asshole-son
> 
> Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy it! Thank you all so much for your support, I really appreciate it; and I'll see yah all later! ;)

Done with his exercises for the day, Tom finished his shower and put on a new change of clothes. He was happy to see his old hoodie back, neatly folded over the sink, clean and fixed; good as new. It's been ages since he'd last seen it, when he was forced to take it off in favor for his new uniform, and Tom thought Tord had gone back on his word after their fight and threw the flimsy thing away.

It seems he was proven wrong about him.

After questioning, Paul explained to him that Tord wanted to have him accustomed to the uniform since that's what he will be wearing for most of the time during his permanent stay in the base. But because of his good behaviour during the Red leader's absence, Paul and Pat decided to give him his hoodie back. They figured Tom would want it, since it's the last thing he had to remember his past.

As he put it on, Tom couldn't be more thankful for the kind actions of the two soldiers. He was, quite frankly, tried of wearing the same boring uniform every day. The numbers that were engraved on the tag above his heart always made him feel like a prisoner, or someone inferior to everyone else around him.

Nevertheless, as Tom dressed himself he realized with a start that his hoodie felt somewhat tight on his form.  _Did they shrink it by accident?_  The two soldiers, although very nice and polite once he got to know them, weren't always the sharpest tool in the shed. Tom wouldn't be surprised if they did make some sort of mistake when washing it.

However, Tom quickly figured that, it wasn't the hoodie who had shrunk.  _He's_ the one who grew into it.

The last time he wore his old hoodie, Tom had been severely malnourished. His clothes hanged loosely around his frame, and hadn't been washed in a while.

Since then, Tom has been kept in a pretty strict diet, done various forms of exercise throughout his stay, and his form is in a much healthier state. Now his hoodie is clinging to his shape quite nicely, and Tom couldn't help but wrap his arms around himself; wistfully recalling his good old days.

"Tom, are you nearly done?"

A knock on the bathroom door, followed by Pat's voice, snapped him out of his brief moment of nostalgia.

"Yeah, hang on!"

Passing a towel through his hair to give it one last dry, Tom quickly adjusted to give off his usual spiky appearance, and walks out.

"Was I in there for too long?" He blurts out, nearly bumping straight into Patrick as he exits the bathroom.

"It's fine." The Polish soldier states, leading them out of the gym and into the hallways. "We're still within our schedule. After all, you must've been pretty tired after the bout of exercises you just did, so I wasn't going to rush you out of your shower." He continued. "Paul told me you did very well on your performance today. He was impressed."

Tom perked up a little. "Really?"

As his condition improved, so did the difficulty of Tom's exercises. At first, he started out with only simple stretches and some warm up rounds; nothing too hazardous for him at the time. But now that he is faring better, Paul would have him run laps around the gym, do pull ups, lift weight, and all kinds of workout tactics that took a lot out of Tom, and by the end he would be completely spent.

Tom wasn't entirely sure why he was expected to do all of this. Sure, to be in perfect condition for the experiments that he dreads so much, that's the main reason why he did these in the first place. But now that his condition is better, how come the exercises are a lot more intense? Tom's best guess is that they don't want to underestimate his improvement and want to keep him as best fit for the experiments as possible. But even that line of reasoning has flaws. His initial exercises were fine enough on their own, especially with the diet he's been kept on.

So why put so much emphasis on physical activities?

Tom tried straight up asking Paul, but the usually carefree soldier avoided his question and just dumped a bunch more exercises for him to do instead.

That certainly did its job in putting Tom off. He sure won't make the same mistake twice and ask him that again. Tom isn't keen on exerting himself more than necessary.

He decided to try his luck out with Pat. It can't possibly end worse than it did with Paul, and it is worth a shot.

"Oh yes!" Patrick nodded, continuing their conversation. "Although he admits you run out of breath quite easily, and you still struggle with some of the exercises, he told me that you have a lot of endurance and what you lack for in stamina, you make up for it in speed. Not bad if I say so myself." He went on. "With a few more weeks of practice, I am sure you'll be more at ease."

"Yeah, that's kind of what I wanted to ask about." Tom broke in, choosing his words so he won't set the Polish soldier off in the wrong way like he did with Paul earlier. "Why am I required to go through all of this? I get that's for my condition and all, but I feel this is all much too complicated just to keep me in shape."

Pat's demeanor changed, and his expression darkened slightly. Tom watched him wearily, waiting for a response and somewhat unsettled for the sudden mood reversal.

Patrick sighs. "I wish I could tell you, honestly I do." He shook his head. "But Red Leader would not share with us the reasoning behind this decision." Glancing back at Tom, he continued. "We send him updates regarding the improvement of your condition while he is away; his orders, you know? When we agreed that you were suitable enough to try out more  _complicated_ activities, Red Leader issued an order for us to do so until his return."

Tom frowned. "Seriously?" He asks incredulously. "Doesn't that seem kind of shady to you? Keeping secrets and sh#t?"

"Well, he  _is_ our leader." Pat points out with a matter-of-fact tone. "Although I agree that we should've been consulted before making a decision regarding this project, or whatever it is he has in store for you, as his loyal soldiers we must trust the judgement of our leader. He isn't stupid, after all. A bit rash at times, and reckless; certainly! But he knows what he's doing most of time."

"I wouldn't trust Tord so much if I wer-"

Tom's words died out as he broke off into a coughing fit. Pat stops and glances at him in concern.

"Thomas? Are you alright?" He approached the Brit. "I hope you're not getting sick again, or that'll be terrible." He placed the palm of his hand over his forehead, checking for his temperature.

Tom brushed him away. "I'm fine- it's just a sore throat."

Pat stared at him and then nodded his head in acknowledgement. "I'll make you some tea when we reach my study. That should fix it."

Tom glanced up at him with disappointment. "Tea?" He echoes. "You mean, no more of that juice I like?"

"Just for today." Pat suppressed a chuckle of amusement as he observes Tom pout, reminding him of a child who's been denied having ice cream before dinner.

Before long, they had reached the familiar oak wooden door. Patrick twisted the knob and stepped aside, letting Tom enter the cozy study first before following him in.

They made some small talk as Pat prepared their tea, mostly chatting about their drinking preferences, which progressively escalated into other topics; mostly morning routines and breakfast.

"No way!" Tom laughed, leaning against the kitchen counter. "Are you serious?"

"Trust me, sometimes I wished I was making this stuff up, but I'm not." Standing next to him, Pat shot him a glance while rummaging through the cupboard for teacups. "I swear, when those two are off-duty they behave like a pair of toddlers." He continues. "Thankfully their antics often fall more in the cute category rather than obnoxious. However, I admit it's difficulty at times to take their ranks seriously when I know what they're really like behind the curtains."

Chuckling, Tom swept a hand through his semi-dry locks. It's so odd to think just how much he's gotten used to the presence of the two soldiers, his environment, and day-to-day basis in general. It all felt natural to him now.

Tom theorized things would be a lot more different if Tord hadn't left, but he isn't going to contemplate what it could've been and instead he'll just enjoy what he got. Tom hopes things stay this way for a while longer, with Tord as far away as possible.

When all was set and done, Patrick handed him his tea and they returned to the study. Tom settled down on his usual leather seat, careful not to spill any of his beverage on himself or the expensive looking carpet. Across from him, Pat sits down on his own seat and pulls out his tablet and the delicately, thin glasses that he keeps in his breast pocket.

"So Tom, how are you feeling today?" He began.

The eyeless test subject sipped on the blue teacup; filled to the brim with steaming hot tea laced with honey, gently blowing on it so he would not accidentally burn his own tongue.

"I'm fine, I guess…" Tom muttered between the tiny sips he took from his tea.

"What about your withdrawal? Have you been feeling nauseous lately, or any other symptoms?" Patrick prompted, sitting back in his recliner chair with his reading glasses on, and typing on his tablet.

"A little. I haven't puked in a long while, so there's that." Tom shrugged, placing the tea down over the glass table that separated him and the Red Army General.

"How would you describe the overall experience?"

"Would not recommend." Tom jokes with a slight chuckle. He then paused. All traces of humor gone from his features, as his expression grew somber. "It was terrible." He answered quietly. "For the most part, it felt like someone was scraping my bones constantly or something." He murmured under his breath, his gaze drifting downward. "Or like, I don't know… spiders crawling through my veins, that have been simultaneously set on fire." He stopped, reframing himself from getting too carried away and spill unneeded information on his condition.

The worst sensation by far, is when that same fire goes out and leaves Tom with an empty, freezing feeling. It's what he'd imagine dying must be like. And just when he thought he'd gotten used to the cold, the fire ignites once more, and the process starts all over again. Going in and out of death repeatedly.

Living and dying…

" _ **Don't get too ahead of yourself now…~"**_

A dark haze suddenly surrounded his mind and tainted his vision. Breathing out a tired sigh, Tom mustered all of his self-will to not flinch or react in any way at the unexpected, intrusive thought.

No. Not a thought…

But a voice.

The voice.

He was wondering when it would show its ugly presence back into his messed-up life. It would've been a matter of time anyway. Since he no longer has access to alcohol or anything sharp on standby, of course the voice would show up again sooner or later. Tom just wished he had more time to brace himself for this occasion.

_Not now._

A cold, and yet amused chuckle echoed throughout his head, sending shivers down Tom's spine.

The voice is just that. A voice. It has no form, shape or appearance. However, it still feels very physical. Tom has gotten so used to its antics that he could detect its presence whenever it starts to act up, mostly because the atmosphere around him immediately gets tense until the voice quiets down again. It always gave Tom the impression that it was lingering somewhere behind him, hovering just a bit over his shoulder to whisper nasty remarks and sweet nothings into his mind; like a thought, drifting in the back of his head. And it sounds very reminiscent to the hiss of a snake, with poison dripping from each word it utters to burn, and brand onto his skin. The volume constantly fluctuates as well. A mere hushed whisper and a loud, booming shout at the same time. Not to mention that every word spoken by it felt like a different sensation running through him each time; ranging from the feeling of cold hands with sharp nails roaming along his body, to various methods of injury being inflicted on him. The amount of pain he would receive usually depending on what exactly the voice says.

It is a painful process that usually takes a lot out of him, especially back in the first few incidents. Now days, Tom barely reacts, if at all, when being administered with this mental torture. On the outside, he may be calm and collected. But on the inside, Tom felt he was cast in a dark room, strapped to a chair and relentlessly tortured. It's been a while since the last time he went through with this, sure, but a few months of its absence in his life is nothing compared to the years he had to endure with it in the first place.

And Tom has tried to get rid of it, in non-harmful tactics that is, before going to more extreme measures.

He knows it is not real.

There is no one behind him.

Nothing impaling or stabbing through him.

And there's definitely no intrusive, probing hands roaming over his body.

It's all just a figment of his head. Nothing more than a trick, crafted by his broken mind to play a sick joke on him. Of course he told himself those things!

But the comments the voice makes just get to him, growing increasingly more excruciating than the last.

After a while though, Tom just had to face the fact that the voice, whatever it really is, just isn't going away by mere use of logic, reason, or even wishful thinking.

Back to reality, Tom watched Patrick type something down in his tablet through half-lidded eyes, doing his best to ignore the mocking presence currently looming over him.

It's a shame that; whatever trace of good humor he had acquired during his previous talk with Pat, or even his earlier run of exercises, as tiring as they may be, with Paul, has been completely ruined by the voice's arrival.

"That was kind of a… morbid way to put it. But somewhat poetic as well." Pat commented, slightly baffled. "Are you a fan of poetry by any chance?"

"Me? Nah! Not really my thing." Tom shook his head. "But musician on the other hand-" He snapped his fingers. "That is more my area of expertise." He leaned back on his chair, deep in thought. "Back when I was in early high school, I used to write some tunes on my notebooks during class; mostly out of boredom. Then I would later play them with Susan."

Patrick continued to type as he talked. "Susan?" he inquired, raising an eyebrow and shooting him a curious glance. "Your girlfriend by any chance?"

A small laugh escaped the Brit. "My bass guitar." He corrected.

"My apologies." Pat bowed his head in understanding, typing another bullet point. "So you play the bass. And those tunes you mentioned, do you still play them?"

"On occasion." Tom replied with a shrug. "Susan is unfortunately kind of old, and has definitely seen better days. But I still love the old babe."

" _ **How ironic! ~"**_  The voice exclaims with a taunting tone. _ **"You claim to love it, and yet you still let it get all broken up and mangled; not even bothering to properly repair it afterward. ~"**_  It hissed harshly into his ear.  _ **"Is that any way to treat the ones you value? Use them however you want and then leave them broken? Like how you did with your friends…~"**_

Clenching his jaw so tight he was sure his teeth would shatter, Tom inwardly flinched at the remark.

_Shut up!_

" _ **Did I touch a sore spot? ~"**_  The voice continued to mock. A cold, phantom and yet tangible hand trailed upwards cross Tom's back.  _ **"Ops~"**_

His fingers curled inward until his knuckles turned white from the pressure.

"So you like music." Patrick commented, adjusting the glasses on his face and completely oblivious to Tom's discomfort. "When do you think this interest first developed?"

Tom wracked his brain for memories. "I think I might've been six-ish?" He replied, not too sure of himself. "My dad took me to see a music festival that was happening near town. Everything was so colorful, bright and loud back then it ended up making an impression on me." He recalled fondly, too busy remembering the details of his past to mind the lingering voice at the moment. "Ever since then, I wanted to get a guitar of my own really badly. But my parents weren't the best ones off financially, and dad dying worsened things…"

" _ **His death is on you. It should not have happened. ~"**_ The voice butted in to comment absentmindedly. Spectral limbs roamed along Tom's back and arms, tracing over his scars with pointy-sharp nails. Tom suppressed a shiver from rippling down his spine.  _ **"That was your fault. If you hadn't insisted on going fishing that day, your father would still be alive. It's your fault he is dead! ~"**_  The intrusive hands did not halt their actions when Tom held back from crying out at the sudden, excruciating sensation of getting impaled through the chest.

"It wasn't until years later I finally managed to save up enough money to buy Susan." Tom went on, nearly choking in the process but managing to hold himself together despite the burning pain he felt in response to the voice's harsh remark. "And I practiced with her ever since."

"Interesting." Finishing his last bullet point, Pat clasped his hands together. "Now Tom, I would like to go a little off topic for a moment. If you wouldn't mind, I think discussing this next issue could be beneficial for you."

Tom raised one of his eyebrows quizzically. "Okay?" He grew even more weary when more phantom limbs joined the first pair and massaged his arms. Tom tried his damn hardest not to shiver, but the hairs on the back of his neck and along his arms stood up uncomfortably. If the voice had a shape, Tom suspects it would be grinning insanely right about now.

Patrick sighed.  _Here goes nothing._

"Let's talk about your friendships."

Tom's reaction to the request was immediate. At once, Pat noticed Tom's feet tap anxiously against the carpeted floor. The Brit had folded his arms; a sign of defensiveness, and his black sockets looked at anywhere but him. Patrick noted down these reactions, filing them under a separate bullet point.

"Thomas?"

"Is that really necessary? I mean, what benefit will that give you in your experiments? Absolutely nothing in the end, let's be real here." Tom began to argue, feeling the presence lurking up behind him grip his shoulders tightly with a different set of hands. "Not to mention that I don't wanna talk about it." He mumbled that last part quietly.

Pat had expected this would happen. "Tom."

"And while we're at it, what is the point of this mental evaluation business?" The Brit continued, going on a rant. "I highly doubt you gave the previous test subjects that kind of treatment, so what makes me so special? And I am positively certain that, whatever my state of mind is, it won't affect anything in the experiments so it just seems like a gigantic waste of time and effort on your part." He argued defensively, attempting to evade the brought-up subject.

"I am simply heeding Red Leader's orders." Patrick responds calmly, looking at Tom with patient eyes. "I know how hard all of this is for you." He gestured to his surroundings.

 _Duh!_ Tom narrowed his eyes.  _You don't even know the half of it!_  He felt the tight pressure build on his shoulders as the presence continuously towered over him.

"But I need your collaboration here, for your own wellbeing."

The voice barked out a cruel laugh.  _ **"Wellbeing? That's just a cute way of saying that they need you to be their obedient little subject for the sake of their world domination plans. ~"**_  As it spoke, Tom felt it grip the back of his scalp tightly, and pull, creating an awful pressure in his head _ **.**_  Tom did not have much time to dwell on it, when he sensed another phantom hand snake around his neck and repeatedly tap the side of his throat with sharp nails. _ **"After all, why would anyone in their right mind care for whatever happens to you, unless it benefited them? ~"**_

Tom took a deep breath, trying to keep himself calm and ignore all the uncomfortable sensations running through him right now. "I just- I really don't wanna talk about this."

"Is this about Tord?" Pat's question cut through him. "If that's the case, you can leave him out-"

"No! It's not about him!" Tom protested, and then paused. "Well, it kind of is. But that's not the point I'm trying to make here!"

Leaning forward in his seat, Patrick stared at him from across the coffee table. "Then what is?" His honeyed green eyes blinked sympathetically.

Glancing away and still fidgeting in his seat, Tom breathed out an exasperated sigh. "Just- just everything!" He cried. "I miss them a lot, Pat. I miss them so much, and it hurts to even think about them, let alone talk!" Tom blurted out, using every ounce of strength within himself to maintain calm. "How can you possibly expect me to just forget everything that happened so far, and just talk about them as if there's nothing wrong?" From behind, he practically could feel the entity smirk _._ _ **"Aww, are you about to cry? ~"**_ It mocked him. Something pointy and sharp wandered over his shoulder blades _._ _ **"You're so weak, and pathetic! Can't even handle your own problems properly! ~"**_  It continued to hiss into Tom's head.  _ **"But I admit; It is highly amusing to watch you struggle. ~"**_

Patrick blinked perplexed. He'd already guessed the Brit's feelings on the subject, but to hear them being confirmed out loud by Tom himself was an improvement. It was clear that Tom has grown to trust him, and Paul as well. Of course, it's not all sunshine and lollipops for the three of them; Tom tends to argue with them once in a while, but Pat and Paul have spent far too much time with their leader to be troubled by Tom's stubbornness. Still, the last thing Patrick wants to do right now is break this carefully built trust.

Pat's gaze softened, sensing his discomfort. "Keeping these feelings to yourself won't do you any good either." He murmured, choosing his words carefully to gently coax the eyeless man to follow his line of thinking. "I am by no means demanding you to outright tell me everything. It is only natural to keep things to yourself in an environment such as this, and in your situation. I understand, believe me I do. Take your time, and go at your own pace." Pat reassured him. "Speak what you can, even if it's the tiniest detail or seems to be insignificant to you. Trust me, by the end you might feel a little more relieved."

"I- I can't."

"You won't know for certain unless you give a try." Pat added.

Before Tom could fully process his words, he felt the pressure on his scalp be released, and the spectral limb move downward to grab a firm grip of the back of his neck, while the other hand that had been poking the side of his throat went unusually still. Tom knows all too well at this point that this is a warning sign to watch for what he is about to say next.

Breathing in a shaky sigh, Tom composed himself.  _I-I can do this._  He echoed, already beginning to feel upset at the mere idea of what he is about to reflect on.

Tom hasn't spoken one word about his friends since his first day in the facility. But perhaps Pat's words hold some truth to them? Maybe he can relieve a little bit of the burden haunting him by calling out to fonder memories?  _I can do this!_ He thought decisively."W-we met in kindergarten."

"Uhum?"

"I think it might've been one of my first days." Tom recalled. "I was really nervous and excited, but mostly terrified."

"Any reason in particular?" Pat questions, not looking up from his tablet.

The Brit shrugged. "I was a tad bit shy in my younger years. I wanted to make friends really badly, but I had no idea how to do it." He replied. "I didn't go out a whole lot before starting school, or had much contact with the outside world; so to be suddenly thrown in a strange environment with lots of other kids was overwhelming at the start."

"I see." Pat murmurs with a tiny nod. He was surprised by the Brit's statement. He would've never suspect Tom of ever being shy. "Please continue."

Tom sighed, flexing his fingers to relieve his hold on the chair's arms. Images flashed in his brain, reminding him of two very important people he was forced to leave behind. Pain stabbed Tom's heart; for once, not induced by the voice, but homesickness. It hurt nonetheless, far more than any blade could possibly inflict on him.

"We were in the classroom, just messing around doing kid stuff…"

**(Flashback!)**

_Inside a colorful classroom, various children played together. Shrills of excitement filled place as the young toddlers participated in different activities. Some played tag, others played with dolls and toys, and a few other kids were quietly scribbling on a blank sheet of paper with crayons._

_Among the group of quiet kids, a boy with spiky hair and black, empty eyes, furiously scrawled on a piece of paper he grabbed from the teacher's desk. His brows are furrowed and his tongue is subconsciously poking out of his mouth in deep concentration._

_He pauses to admire his work, nodding in silent approval at his progress before resuming. "Something is missing…" He observed with a pensive hum, looking at the crude drawing of him and his family, smiling together as they skipped around in a meadow. "Of course! It needs more colors!"_

_He stretched out his hand towards the red plastic crate, stocked full of various art supplies, next to him and randomly grabbed any crayon he could reach. Adding it to his drawing he quickly switched to a different one, swapping colors repeatedly throughout the whole process._

_Blowing away the tiny specks of crayon that lingered on the paper, the child picked up his drawing. "That's better!" He exclaims. "Now I just need one more color…" He reached for the crate again, expecting his fingers to wrap around the familiar, small object of his choosing._

_Imagine his surprise when his hand met something warm and clammy instead._

_The child jumped in his seat in surprise at the unexpected contact. He whipped his head, his gaze landing on a boy, looking as equally as startled as he is, standing next to him by the crate of art supplies._

" _Sorry!" He blurts out, tearing his hand away from the other kid with a small tinge of crimson coating his cheeks in embarrassment._

_The other boy looks down at his hand, curious more than anything. His gaze swerves back to meet with the child's eyeless ones. "It's ok." He answers softly._

_The kid in question is a tall boy with brown hair, brown eyes, round facial structure, and fair white complexion. He's wearing a short-sleeved, bright green shirt, with a dark shirt underneath with longer sleeves poking out, beige shorts, and green shoes._

_They stared shyly back at each other._

_The boy in green rocked on his feet. "Can I take a few things please?" He asks, fumbling with his hands and briefly motioning toward the crate._

" _Sure!" The eyeless child nodded toward the crate. "Just- please don't take any of the crayons. I'm using them, ok?"_

" _I won't." The brown-haired boy nodded, and started to rummage through the art supplies. With that out of the way, the spiky-haired boy turned away and resumed with his drawing; watching the other boy leave through the corner of his vision. He thought that was the end of it, and he would just go back to his not-so-quiet solitude._

_But that was not the last he'd seen of him._

_Throughout the whole course of the day, the boy clad in green kept returning to take something else out of the crate; looking increasingly more chipper each time he did. The eyeless child at first simply tried ignoring him, but his curiosity increased, and every time he dropped by, he would find himself peaking at the other boy. Strangely enough, he noticed overtime that the brunet was getting messier with each visit. Colourful smudges stained the boy's hands and clothes._

_It was when he returned again, this time with a purple stain on the bottom-left of his cheek, that the eyeless child decided to quell his curiosity._

_He pretended to be drawing, busying himself as he watched the brunet sideways. The boy was rummaging through the crate again and picked out two jars of paint, before hurriedly leaving the room; occasionally shooting worried glances at the teacher, who was too busy settling a quarrel between two crying girls to really notice him sneaking out._

_The eyeless child seized the chance and followed suit. He stored his drawing away in his bag before heading out of the room._

_He stepped out of the classroom and found himself in a dim corridor, just in time to see a pair of green shoes disappear around the corner and into the boys' restroom. He hurriedly toddled after, both eager and curious to see what the brunet was up to. Of course, he could just be doing what any other sane person does when going to the restroom. But if that's the case, why was he bringing a bottle of paint with him? Something fishy was going on…_

_The eyeless toddler grew even more confused when he heard laughter and voices coming from the other side of the restroom door._

_Opting not to beat around the bush any longer, the unusual looking toddler pushed the door open._

_Truth be told, he wasn't sure what he was expecting to find in there. Was the brunet pulling some sort of prank with the jars of paint, and was anticipatively waiting for some poor fool to wander into the stalls? Just when the eyeless child seriously began to consider in turning back, he froze on the spot; stumbling into the scene before him._

_Colourful splatters of paint tainted the white tiled walls, even the floor and mirrors. The giggles are louder now as he stepped farther into the room, until he came across the brunet at the end of the bathroom hall, accompanied by an accomplice. A boy with pale skin, round blue eyes, and bright, well-groomed ginger hair, wearing a baggy purple hoodie, jeans, and purple sneakers sat next to the brunet; looking just as messy as him with stains all over his clothes._

_Jars of paint littered by their knees where they sat. The spiky-haired boy watched wide eyed as the brunet dipped his hand into one of the bottles, scooping a handful of blue paint before splattering the white walls._

" _See this?" The boy in green pressed his against the wall and smeared the paint all over it. "I'm making the sea!"_

_The ginger boy clapped excitedly, bouncing on his knees as he watched the display. "Oh! I know! I'm going to draw a huuuge mountain over here!" He proclaims, folding back the sleeves of his hoodie to dip his hand into the jar of black paint. "And with a beautiful forest at the bottom too! Lots of trees and pretty flowers-"_

" _And animals too! Don't forget about the animals!" The brunet piped in, wiping the paint off his hand on his own shirt._

" _Of course n- oh!" The ginger boy stiffens mid-dip into the green jar, his eyes fixed on the peculiar child just standing there, mouth agape in awe as he watched them._

_The brunet noticed his companion's reaction and halts. "What?" He turns around, following his line of sight. He perked up in surprise when he saw who it was, and smiled. "Oh hey, you're the kid with the crayons!"_

_With a tiny, barely audible gasp the eyeless boy steps back and adverts his gaze, fumbling with the straps of his overalls._

" _Hello!" The ginger boy waves at him, bursting with glee in an over-exaggerated manner._

_The child with spiky hair shyly waves back. "H-hi." He slowly lifts his head back up. "What- what are you doing?" He stutters quietly, almost hesitant to get the question out._

" _We're painting!" The brunet replies, gesturing to the smudged wall behind them._

" _In the bathroom?" The eyeless boy cocks his head to one side. "The teacher has lots of paper on her desk. If you want I could go and get a few for you-"_

" _No thanks, we're ok with the wall. There's plenty of space to draw this way!" The child in green responds dismissively. "Hey! Do you wanna paint with us?"_

" _M-me?!"_

" _Yes you!" The brunet laughed. "Come on, there's lots of colours to go around and a bunch of space to use."_

" _And it's real fun too!" The ginger kid added with a wide grin._

_Shuffling his feet, the peculiar looking child silently contemplated. These two boys seem very nice and friendly so far, and he'd never been invited to participate in any of the activities by the other kids. He didn't show it much but he was legitimately excited to join them. And the white wall behind them does look very tantalizing to paint on._

" _Ok!" He smiles, all previous signs of shyness gone, and he skips over to join the others._

_Together, they began to paint the bathroom walls, turning everything from top to bottom into a ginormous mess. An explosion of colours blended into a deformed rainbow of sorts. The three young boys giggled and laughed along with their fun, occasionally showing off their artwork to one another. Various bottles of paint were left open, some even tipped over and scattered all over the floor._

_The eyeless child scooped up a load of red paint into his hand, and using just one of his fingers, drew a long line into the white tiles; doing countless swirls, loops, dips, going up and down, left and right, and all over the place._

" _Woah!" The brunet watched in awe, kneeling next to him with a dumbfounded expression. "What is it?"_

_The eyeless boy stepped back with a grin. "A rollercoaster!" He states proudly. "I'm making a theme park!"_

" _Cool!"_

" _Hey guys, check out my drawing!" The ginger child calls out to them, gesturing towards his somewhat crummy drawing of a castle._

" _Neato!" The bright, eyeless child commented._

" _Is there a princess that lives there?" The boy dressed in green prompted._

" _Nope! But there is a very beautiful prince!" The ginger goes on, puffing his chest and striking a pose. He raised his chin with a grin. "A wonderful, charming, and very handsome prince-" As he ranted proudly, he lifted one of his hands up to his hair to run it through his striking ginger locks, forgetting that his hands were stained with fresh paint._

" _Wait!"_

" _No don't-!"_

_The boys tried to stop him, but it was too late. The grimy hand swept through the ginger's hair, tainting it in paint._

" _-Who was loved by his, uh, what are they called again? Subjets? No, that's not quite right. Hm." As he continued to contemplate his words, he just kept fumbling with his own hair, creating an even bigger mess. The brunet boy bit his lips, trying to hold in a giggle. The eyeless child stifled a gasp and watched the mess unfold with a gaping mouth. The ginger snapped his fingers, recognition flashing in his blue eyes. "That's right, peasants! He was dearly loved by his peasants!" He paused, taking notice of his friends' reaction. "What?"_

" _Uhh-"_

_The ginger rubbed his head in confusion, staring at his companions until reality finally hit him. His eyes widened with shock at the realization, and he stiffened. Slowly he brought his hand down, his hand trembling, looking almost like a scene from a horror movie as he looked back at his paint-tainted hand with despair._

_The brunet and the eyeless boy exchanged a worried glance._

" _Are you ok-?"_

_In a fraction of a second, the ginger child rushed past them, heading toward the nearest mirror. He froze once his eyes landed on the dark, smudgy mess that were once luscious orange locks and he shrieked in horror._

" _My hair! My beautiful hair! What have I done to you?!" He cried out, grasping the sink with desperation. "Oh no what am I going to do?! My mom is going to kill me!" He gasps, dropping to his knees. "What if I have to cut all of my hair off?!" And with that, the waterworks let loose and he started to cry. "I don't wanna be bald!"_

_The two boys stood there and watched the ginger sob to his knees, looking concerned but unsure of what to do in this situation._

_The eyeless boy rubbed one of his own shoulders, shuffling on his feet. "Should I get the teacher?" He offered._

_The brunet's brown eyes brightened and a smile etched onto his face. "No. Stay here with him, I'll be right back!" With no further explanation on whatever it is he's got planned, he bolted out of the bathroom, the door swinging close behind him._

_Left alone with the sobbing child, the eyeless boy nervously approached him. He shakily places a hand on the ginger's shoulder and started to pat him in a soothing motion. "It's ok. Everything is going to be ok, don't you worry." Rather than calming him, his words had the opposite effect and the boy clad in purple sobbed more. The eyeless boy stared at him in dismay. "C'mon don't be like that. Your hair isn't even that bad. If anything, I even think it looks cool on you."_

_Sniffling, the ginger kid risked a glance at him. "Do yo- do you really mean that?"_

" _Well yeah, of course I d- ARGH!" His words died out when the ginger suddenly enveloped him in a tight hug, his face buried into his chest as he continued to cry. The peculiar looking child wasn't used to hugs, let alone coming from people he hardly knows. Still, he tried his best to console the sad kid dressed in purple. He slowly wrapped his arms around him and patted him on the back. "There there."_

_The bathroom door swung open as the brunet returned, smiling widely from ear to ear. The eyeless child's expression turned from relief at the sight of him, to confusion when he noticed what he was wielding in his hands._

" _What are those for?" He asked quizzically, nodding toward the set of tools the brunet brought with him. A mop. A plunger. And a broom._

_Rather than answering him, the brunet threw the items onto the floor, keeping the plunger while he twirled it in his hand. The eyeless boy's furrowed further in confusion. Just what is this guy up to? Even the ginger halted his crying to peek at the scene._

_The brunet shot them both a wink, and cleared his throat. "Hear ye hear ye, tragic has befallen the beloved prince!" He announces loudly, as if he were revealing news to a big crowd. "The handsome prince has been cursed by an, uh-"_

" _An evil witch!" The eyeless boy exclaims, catching onto the brunet's antics and going along with his act. The ginger looked at him with teary blue eyes. "An evil, and very ugly witch!" He went on. "Who was jealous of the handsome prince's beauty."_

_While he spoke, the boy dressed in green scooped up a bit of red paint and started to doodle on one of the mirrors. "That's right! And now it is up to us-" He backed away, showcasing his exaggerated drawing of a witch. He gestured toward the boy with spiky hair. "-the knights, to defeat the evil witch and break the prince's curse!"_

_Jumping into action, the unusual looking child pulled away from the still visibly upset ginger kid, and grabbed a hold of the broom. "You'll pay for what you did you mean, old thing!" He vows, aiming the broom at the mirror._

" _I'll- I'll fight too." Sniffling, the ginger cracked a small smile and rose to his feet, clearing away the remaining tears clouding his vision. He grabbed the mop._

" _Attack!"_

_With a battle cry, the boy dressed in green charged. Plunger in hand, he stabbed the rubber head onto the mirror, directly onto the witch's face. "Take that!" He laughed victoriously. He tried to pull the plunger out but found it firmly stuck onto the reflective surface. "Oh no, the evil witch set up a trap! And I fell for it!" He cried out, gripping onto the plunger and trying to pull away._

_It released with a loud 'pop' sound, making the brunet stagger back in surprise with the force of the pull. In doing so, his feet slipped over the paint drenched floor and he fell onto his back, staining himself in various colours of paint, mixed together._

" _I've been hit!" The brunet boy cried out. "Avenge me, friends!" With his last words, he closed his eyes and played dead, sticking his tongue out for dramatic effect._

" _No!" The ginger wailed in distress, seeing the body of his fallen companion. He whipped around to face the witch in the mirror. "You may destroy my good looks, but no one hurts my friend and gets away with it!"_

_Using all his strength, he swung the mop toward the mirror, hoping to strike a hit on the mirror witch. However, it missed its mark a few centimeters too short and hit the sink instead, knocking the tap off and causing water to erupt. The ginger yelled in alarm when the water splashed him square in the face, the strong torrent forcing him to back away._

" _My face!" He gagged through a mouthful of water._

" _I'll save you!" The eyeless child shouts, running up to the mirror which now contained the deformed drawing of the witch; smudged due to previous attacks. Wielding the broom, he swung it down hard with all of his strength, smashing the mirror with the blunt end of his weapon. The glass shattered into various fragments, distorting the reflection._

_The child grinned. "I did it! I got the witch!" He cheered victoriously._

" _My hair!" Whirling around he saw the ginger, completely soaking wet, standing before the untouched area of the mirror with relief and admiration in his blue eyes. "My beautiful hair is back! Look!" Running his fingers through his wet hair repeatedly, he appreciated the vibrant soggy orange locks, now spotlessly clean from any evidence of paint. "Woah, I forgot how beautiful I looked." He grinned and cupped his own cheeks, peering into his reflection._

_The brunet staggered to his feet, his clothes entirely smudged in paint. "We did it! We broke the curse!" His green eyes gleamed with triumph. "And we restored the prince's beauty!"_

" _Hurray!"_

_They cheered simultaneously, celebrating their success._

_But it was short lived._

" _Uh guys? What are we gonna do about all of this?" The ginger points out hesitantly, gesturing towards the ruined bathroom._

_There is paint splattered all over the walls and floor, water gushing out of a broken sink, a shattered mirror, and their own dishevelled appearances._

" _Oh." The trio stared at the results of their mess with wide-eyed blank faces._

_The eyeless boy turned toward the two. "That was a lot a fun though!"_

" _Yeah."_

_Almost before they were done speaking, the sound of low giggles could be heard. The boy with spiky hair whirled around in confusion, only to realize that the brunet was shaking next to him with suppressed laughter, which he tried very hard to keep down. But his chuckles increased to light-hearted chortling that filled the room. The ginger and the eyeless children shared mutual expressions of bewilderment. But the brunet's laughter was just so contagious and enjoyable that, in the end, they couldn't help but laugh along with him. And looking back at the mess they created, it was kind of hard to stop it._

_Their laughter abruptly came to an end when a shrill of absolute horror rang throughout the room._

" _What have the three of you done?!"_

_Immediately the three boys snapped their gazes toward the bathroom door, where the teacher stood, completely dismayed at the scene. "The bathroom is in ruins! Just what do you think you're doing?!"_

_The three of them looked at one another with smiling faces._

" _Painting!"_

" _Fighting off an evil witch!"_

" _Washing my hair!"_

_The boys got into a whole lot of trouble._

_They were taken to the principal's office immediately after the scandal, where they were forced to wait after class for their parents to come and pick them up._

_The eyeless boy fumbled with the straps of his overalls anxiously. How will his parents react to the mess he made? Will they get mad at him? They aren't the type of parents who get angry very easily. In fact, he doesn't even remember the last time he'd seen them angry. At most he fears they will be more disappointed in him more than anything for getting into trouble so soon after getting into Kindergarten._

_He sat between his accomplices, the brunet to his right and the ginger to his left. The brunet was unusually quiet, staring at the ground and whistling a soft tune, but not looking particularly upset. The ginger was looking upbeat, fidgeting in his seat and rocking his legs back and forth with a grin. He looked so untroubled despite their situation, even though his mother is already inside at this very moment talking to the principle._

" _So, is this a normal situation for you two?" The eyeless child spoke up, attempting to make a small talk to relieve himself from the tension._

_The boys dressed in purple and green reply. "Yup!"_

" _But it's not just the two of us." The brunet continued. "We have another friend who participates on our games as well. He was supposed to be here for the bathroom painting, but he got sick and couldn't come. I think you would've liked him! He's pretty quiet, but lots of fun once you get to know him!"_

" _He talks a little funny though." The ginger added._

" _But you are pretty fun to play with too!" The brunet commented, throwing a brief glare toward the ginger before turning back to the eyeless boy. "I don't think I've seen you around before. Are you new?"_

" _Ye-yeah." He stammered shyly, fumbling with his own hands._

_The ginger emitted a loud gasp, his hands rising up to his own face cupping his cheeks with wide eyes. "Does this mean you got no friends?" He asks with shock on his face. Before the eyeless boy could answer him, he was enveloped in a hug and had his face shoved against the ginger's chest. The arms wrapped around him tightly and he suffocated rather quickly. "Oh you sweet poor thing!"_

" _I-I can't breathe!" The eyeless boy choked, trying to pull away from the ginger._

" _Matt, let him go. You're squashing him!" The brunet scolds._

" _Oops! Sorry!" The ginger quickly lets him go, throwing him an apologetic look._

_Right at that moment, the door to the principal's office swung open. A tall woman with dark ginger hair, wearing a purple dress and high-heels strolled out with her hands on her hips. "Unbelievable! Never have i heard such audacity!" She rants angrily. "My sweet little angel would never do such a thing! Isn't that right, Matthew?"_

_On cue, the ginger boy threw a cheeky little grin, and made the cutest face conceivable to mankind. His mother instantly fell for his act of innocence, and she grabbed his hand with a smile. "See? I knew you were a good boy."_

_The eyeless boy watched perplexed. No wonder the ginger wasn't afraid of getting a scolding, he got his parents wrapped around his finger!_

" _Now, let's head home sweetheart." The woman cooed. "It's getting late, and I'll prepare your favourite meal for dinner."_

" _Hurray!" The ginger cheers with glee. As he walked away with his mother, he glanced back over his shoulder and waved at his friends. "Bye guys!"_

" _Bye!"_

" _Goodbye Matt!"_

" _Matt?" The eyeless boy cocks his head, echoing the name._

_Just then it suddenly dawned on the brunet that they forgot to introduce themselves to each other, despite their amazing adventure today._

" _Yeah! His name is Matt. And I'm Edd!" The boy dressed in green, Edd, finally introduced himself. "What's your name?"_

" _It's Thomas."_

" _Thomas, I'm calling you Tom for short. Is that ok?" The peculiar looking toddler nods with a grin. "We had great fun today, didn't we?"_

" _Yeah, but the principal does seem awfully mad at us for what we did." Tom murmured, hugging himself._

" _You'll get used to it. He is always a grump." Edd reassured him dismissing any worries. "Wait until our next big adventure!"_

_Tom blinked at him, genuinely taken back by his last comment. "O-our bi- our next big adventure?" He stuttered confusedly, as if the words had gotten stuck in his throat and he choked to get them out. "As in, you guys… and me?"_

_Edd laughed. Not a mocking type of laughter, but more like a light-hearted chuckle. "Of course!" He nudged Tom. "You are one of us now!" He suddenly turned serious, and grabbed a hold of Tom's face; squeezing his cheeks. "And don't think about getting out of it. There's no turning back now. Ok?"_

" _Ok?"_

" _Good!" Edd brightened up again, as if nothing happened._

_Right at that moment a couple walks out of the principal's office, and without a word the woman beckons Edd to come along._

" _I gotta go now." Edd jumps from his seat, grabs his bag and hurries off after his parents. He glanced back at Thomas over his shoulder and continuously waved him goodbye. "Bye Tom!"_

" _Goodbye!" Tom waves back._

" _I'll see you Monday!"_

" _See yah!"_

_Watching his new-found friend leave from a distance, Tom breathed out a sigh and slumped against his chair. Despite being nervous for landing on the principal's office so soon after he just started kindergarten, and how his parents might react, Tom couldn't help but feel content._

_He found friends! Sure they are a little weird, but they're also so energetic, cheerful and creative._

_He can't wait to see them again! Who knows what kind of trouble they'll get themselves in next time?_

A comfortable silence fell over the study as Tom finished telling his story. He kept his distant gaze fixed intently at the ground. A sad little smile on his face as he slowly fumbled with his own hands, trying absentmindedly to distract himself from the overflowing emotions coursing through him, however pointless it may seem.

On the outside, Tom appeared to be calm and collected, doing his best not to shed any tears as he recalled on the fond memories of his childhood. However, on the inside is a different matter altogether.

Tom felt shackled, his movements restrained as the sensation of various cold, spectral hands holding on to him in a tight grip, and keeping him down. What once used to be at least five hands grabbing him at first, now seems like hundreds. It felt hard to breathe. Tom could never tell if this was consequence of the overwhelming emotions he'd repressed for so long consuming him as he acknowledged them out loud, or the many hands constricting him all at once. As if all of that wasn't enough, there are blades littered all over his backside. Plunged deep and sticking out of his body like a set of spikes; courtesy of the voice's many words of wisdom. Each new wound added to the collection whenever the voice would make a nasty remark or impute a hurtful comment in the situation.

Tom is in a lot of pain. Emotional, but painful nonetheless. As much as he is writhing and crying out in pain on the inside, Tom could never show it on the outside. Tom doesn't want to appear weak in front of others, especially his captors; no matter how friendly they may be. But most importantly, it was mainly about Edd and Matt.

 _I don't want to worry them._ Is always his reasoning.  _They have other stuff to worry about, they don't deserve another burden to take care of._  Tom has had a lot of training in the past, controlling his facial expressions and behaviour to never let show any obvious signs of discomfort or pain.  _No one should know._

Across from him, Patrick quietly typed on his tablet. Tom tried to read his facial expression through half-lidded eyes, but couldn't decipher what exactly the soldier was thinking at the moment.

"I see." Pat murmured quietly. His tone of voice is soft, while his eyes held a glint of humour in them; possibly entertained by the story he just witnessed. "The three of you definitely sound like a handful!"

"Yeah, we sure were." Tom spoke softly under his breath as grief stabbed his heart. Memories flooded Tom so powerfully that he could hardly breathe, and guilt seared his body.

Taking off his glasses, Pat put the tablet down on his lap. "How do you feel now that you let some emotional baggage out of your chest?"

Well, ain't that the million dollar question of the day. Although doubtful at the start, Tom did feel relief once he started talking about Edd and Matt, how they met, and the impact that it had on his life. However, the whole experience and meaning behind the moment was completely tarnished by the voice relentlessly torturing him. Sure it felt good to talk about what's on his mind aloud, but to keep remembering the awful things he's done in the process made it difficult to balance an exact emotion.

"Good." Was what Tom went with, nodding his head slightly with his lips pursed in a thin line.

Patrick's eyebrows furrowed in suspicion, staring back at Tom through narrowed eyes. "Is everything alright? You seem pretty quiet." He observed.

Tom suppressed a shiver as anxiety spiked through him. "I'm okay." He replied as casually as possible, ignoring the pain he felt rippling on his side. "Just uh- It's just hard, you know, to get so much out of my chest like this. Especially after everything that's happened."

For a moment he believed he managed to fool him. Patrick's expression softened and he regarded him with sympathy. However, before Tom was even given the chance to sigh in relief, Pat spoke up again.

"I can see you are bothered by something. Clearly in discomfort. You know you got nothing to worry about in here. I won't tell anything of this to Red Leader, not even to Paul."

Tom blinked in bewilderment. "What do you mean? I already said I'm fine. It's just the topic that's a little hard to get through, that's all-"

"Tom."

He flinched at the sound of his name. Afraid where this conversation could potentially lead up to, Tom stared at the ground and shuffled his feet around in apprehension, unable to meet Pat's gaze which he could feel borrowing into him.

"Is something going on with you, that you're not telling?"

Tom took a deep breath at that, attempting his best to keep his composure calm at the face of near-revelation. He numbly shook his head with a tiny shrug.

"You know if there's anything wrong you can tell me, right? Or Paul if you are more comfortable with." Patrick's words were so soothing, Tom couldn't help but to flicker his gaze back up to look at him. He was startled with the amount of patience and understanding he found staring back at him from honeyed, kind green eyes. "Despite what you may believe, we do really care about you. So if you are having problems with anything at all, we will do our best to help you- within reason, of course."

A flush of warmth washed over Tom at his words, genuinely touched by the offer. Something flourished inside of him. A small speck of light ignited; bright and warm, that relaxed Tom's tensed muscles and soothed his soul. Hope.

It seems so easy- so within reach. To finally confide in someone of all his problems, his fears, what he's been enduring on his own this whole time, and just how there is something seriously wrong with him. Tom longed so much for the chance to finally admit his problems, but dreaded all the same. How would they take it?

Patrick seems like a trustworthy guy, he hasn't done anything truly harmful to Tom since his arrival. Not once has Pat ever lost his temper when dealing with him, he's a good listener, and seems to know exactly what to do in most situations. He'll understand him, surely? Pat already appears to be so insistent in helping, maybe he can find a solution to Tom's problem.

He won't have to keep quiet about this anymore. He can be free of this burden!

With hope soaring in his chest, Tom felt a burst of determination to speak.

" _ **You don't honestly believe he cares about you, do you? ~"**_

At once, Tom stiffens and his muscles tensed with apprehension. His words died instantly in his mouth. He'd forgotten that the voice was still active. The phantom arms that still encircled him tightened their possessive grip, while three others slithered upwards; two of them constricting around his throat until it became impossible to breathe, while the other one latched over his mouth, as if to stop him from speaking.

" _ **Have you forgotten who this man is? What his motives are? And more importantly, who he works for? ~"**_ The voice reasoned harshly, as if scolding a petulant child.  _ **"He doesn't care about you. This little therapy-play the two of you put up is nothing more than his job. Don't you think he would rather be anywhere else other than stuck here with you, hearing you moaning about everything? He probably has better things to do with his time. If it weren't for Tord ordering him so, he wouldn't waste his time with you. ~"**_

Tom trashed wildly under the constraining hold on him trying to bury him alive, desperately tugging on the limbs wrapped around his neck to free himself.  _You're wrong!_ He objected futilely.  _Why would he bother hanging out with me then? Commie wouldn't have ordered that!_

The voice tutted with mock sympathy.  _ **"You poor fool, that's only to gain your trust. ~"**_

Tom stopped struggling.

" _ **If you trust them, you'll be more willing to abide to their commands. They are using you. ~"**_

Chilling cold claws gripped his insides and twisted them hard. Tom doubled over and clutched himself in pain with a startling cry. Amidst his suffering, Tom tried to cast a glance at Patrick through the thick, darkened haze that surrounded his vision. He seems so innocent… Could it be he's been playing him all along?

Tom doesn't wanna believe it, but he can't deny the possibility sounds plausible.

" _ **Besides, if this man truly does care for you, why would you freely dump all your problems onto him like that? Hasn't it occurred to you that he already has his own problems to deal with? ~"**_ The voice pointed out casually.  _ **"The world doesn't revolve around you. People have issues they got to deal with on their own, and it's not fair for him, or anyone else for that matter, for you to throw your baggage at them! ~"**_ A spear stabbed through Tom's back, poking out of his chest. The scream that ripped out of his throat was drowned by the spectral limbs clamping his mouth shut. The agonizing sensation of fire, static, and ice shot through him all at once and left him nearly breathless against the tightness still wrapped around his throat.

" _ **Are you selfish enough you would willingly cause another person to suffer for your problems? ~"**_

Back in reality, Tom stared at Patrick with hidden dismay while in an inner conflict with himself. The determination he once had was annihilated by the voice, along with the spark of hope that it brought. It would be so easy to blurt out something- anything in regards to his situation. But Tom couldn't get the words he needed out his mouth, try as he might. The invisible hand lodged over his mouth refused to let him speak up, and the other two around his throat just tightened even more until Tom was out of oxygen.

Breathing out a tired sigh, Tom accepted defeat. "There's nothing wrong." He replied solemnly, his gaze cast downwards. "It's been a long day, that's all."

Tom felt a cruel hand comb through his hair with sharp nails.  _ **"Good boy! ~"**_ The voice praised him with a mocking purr.

The dark haze in his vision cleared away, returning to normal. The various limbs wrapped around his body, holding Tom down, released him. Tom's shoulders sagged, relieved that the voice finally quieted down and that the horrible experience was over.

For now, anyway.

"Then I guess we can conclude our session for today." Patrick put away his glasses and placed the tablet down. He stood up from his seat, and made his way toward Tom. "I have to return to my duties now. Will you be fine heading back to your quarters on your own?"

"I'll be okay." Tom nodded numbly.

Patrick followed him out the study. "I'll have Paul bring your dinner later. Do you want anything in particular?"

Tom shrugged. "Not really. So as long there isn't any meat included."

"Fish or chicken, I know."

The two briskly parted ways; their interaction vastly different from what it once was earlier. Tom made the long walk back to his quarters in silence, practically dragging himself along with sluggish movements and a bleak expression on his face. His head is pounding, and he felt drained of energy.  _I'm so tired…_

The immense, empty corridors of the lab level seemed to stretch on forever; when really, all it takes is a few turns to reach his destination. And yet, Tom struggled along his journey with some difficulty. The voice consumes a lot of energy out of him in order to manifest itself. Although neither it or any of the phantom limbs are around to bother him right now, the mental wounds left behind are still fresh and stinging.

Tom almost felt like a warrior, and not in the glorious or courageous type. He felt as if he just went to fight in a huge war, but instead of slaying his enemies he was the punching bag- a distraction to advert all the fire toward himself and getting most of the damage out of it. Now here he is, dragging himself pitifully back home, littered from top to bottom with wounds, and he is bleeding all over the place; leaving behind a trail of blood wherever he went.

The walk back to his quarters was painfully long and slow. The door slid open with a hiss, and Tom dragged himself in before immediately falling over his bed with a tired sigh.

" _ **What are you waiting for? ~"**_

Just as Tom was getting ready to take a nap, the haunting question announced the voice's return. The dark haze back to taint his vision. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up at the chilling sensation of something breathing down at him. He isn't surprised that the voice was so quick to return after manifesting mere minutes ago. Being gone for so long, it's to be expected that it would become sporadic.

Tom slowly sat up, blinking tiredly.

_I'm waiting for the right time._

Tom sensed the voice shift agitatedly around him.

" _ **And when will that be? ~"**_  The voice challenged.  _ **"You should've ended your existence long ago. I can see through your memories; you had plenty of opportunities to off yourself. And yet you didn't. I wonder why… ~"**_

 _It's not as easy as you say it is._ Tom argued defensively.  _I can't just go crazy and kill myself like that. If I get caught in the act, or use a not very effective method to do so I won't have another chance. Tord and his soldiers will do whatever it takes to keep me alive for the sake of their plans._

An uncomfortable stinging sensation rose from his cheeks, and Tom could imagine the voice ripping into the flesh of his face with sharp nails.

" _ **You're hoping that they fix you, aren't you? ~"**_ The voice howled in an animalistic fashion, barking with laughter. Tom did not cower at the harsh noise in his head, but he remained stoically still.  _ **"You're such a coward you can't even own up to your own troubles! It's so like you to leave your problems for someone else to solve. Even when they are blatantly not doing it for your sake, but for their own benefit! I don't think you realize just how truly damaged you are. ~"**_ It went on, the nails trailing down Tom's face to pierce his shoulders. Tom flinched with a hiss, wishing he could swat the cruel hands off his person.  _ **"It seems I missed a lot more than I thought while I was away. But what an interesting development do I find here? Our former red accomplice is still alive! Guess you can take that one out of your consciousness. Not that it matters much in the great scheme of things; you still killed plenty other innocent people. ~"**_

Tom bristled at the comment.  _Commie is far from innocent!_

" _ **And you who are you to judge? As far as I'm concerned, your number of confirmed kills is much higher than Tord's. You are dangerous, and that's all there is to it! ~"**_ The voice hissed scornfully.  _ **"What makes you so especial you should live above all those you killed? They had hopes, dreams, ambitions- lives worth living. You are absolutely worthless! Nothing more than a burden. It's not fair on them that they should be robbed of their lives in such a brutal manner while you are still living. You are practically mocking them with your continuous existence, you know? ~"**_ Tom's heart sank at the harsh words spoken to him. He sat in silence while listening to the voice's angry rants, not making much of an effort to defend himself; feeling much like a child receiving a scolding.

" _ **But now we got a situation in our hands. Tord intends to use you in order to conquer the world. Unless you want to be responsible for more deaths, I suggest we stop him from achieving his goal. ~"**_

 _And what do you want me to do? I can't stop the commie from doing what he wants._ Tom reasoned with blatant contempt.  _If I keep on defying him and refuse to collaborate, he'll turn his eye back on Edd and Matt! I can't let that happen either!_

There was a moment of silence that followed, so quiet even his heartbeat became inaudible, and stretched on for a while. Breaking the wary silence, the voice murmured.  _ **"You know what you have to do. ~"**_

Slumping back with a sigh, Tom did not respond. He didn't need to. He knows what the voice is talking about. How couldn't he? For countless months, it's the only thing running in his mind! And yet, the idea filled him up with dread whenever it popped into his head. His throat clogged, and the lump bobbed uncomfortably as he tried to swallow it down. His mouth felt dry; tongue like sand paper. Tom slowly convinced himself that  _it's the right thing to do,_ and a sense of peace would be instilled in him.

That's how it works.

" _ **You have to die. ~"**_

Tom choked back the tears that rapidly welled up in his eyes. His mind betrayed him yet again, flashing images of happier times in his life against his better judgement. Memories of his friends were the first thoughts he conjured up, and Tom felt the overwhelming sadness that came with it.  _They already believe I'm dead. Dying for real won't change anything._ He told himself, completely dense to the truth of his own feelings. Then his mind flashed to the two soldiers he befriended through the course of his stay. He recalled playing video games, cooking, and laughing with them.  _Was that all just for show? Did it mean absolutely nothing to them?_  As painful as it was to admit it, Tom could see the soldiers pull something like that on him. They work for commie for crying out loud! Did he really expect anything good to come from people associated with him?

And to think Tom once believed that out of all of them, Matt was the easiest to fool. Evidently not.

Emotions running rampant, Tom hunched over and curled himself into a tight ball. He hugged his knees to his chest, trying to hide his face and pretend he wasn't sad, or about to cry. The familiar set of feelings he'd gotten so used to, courses right through him again like jab of electricity.

" _ **Fear. Regret. Helplessness. Despair. ~"**_ The voice surrounded Tom with a resonating echo, giving a name and face to each emotion as it fed off of him.  _ **"This is what you spread. If Edd and Matt had never befriended you, they would've never felt any of these emotions so strongly. ~"**_ It continued, casting a bleak shadow over him. The voice paused in contemplation.  _ **"Perhaps, Tord wouldn't have changed either, and the three of them could've been happy together. But you took that away from them when you decided to stick around. ~"**_

Tom listened to the voice with anguish, feeling like he just got kicked repeatedly in the gut. He took deep rhythmic breaths to stop himself from having a major breakdown; his head pounding, and his energy draining fast. Tom slowly untangled himself from his position, and fell back on the bed. He could barely muster up enough strength to grab the Dreamcatcher from his bed stand. It was only thanks to his fear of the dreadful nightmares that awaited him otherwise, that granted him sufficient strength to make the extra effort.

Grabbing the device and putting it into place inside his ear, Tom curled up on his side and waited for his energy to deplete entirely. Even the simple act of thinking has become too much of a struggle. His breathing slowed down, body shutting down, and the haze in his eyes turned foggy with tiredness. Tom released a faint sigh, and progressively drifted off.

His eyes closing, the voice had one last comment to make before he fell asleep.

" _ **Wherever you go, you always bring misfortune with you. ~"**_

**(Meanwhile…)**

Despite the beautiful, sunny weather and clear skies that had blessed the town, a chilly breeze blew through the trees, rattling the branches and sending a few more dead leaves to whirl through the air. Dusk light filled the sky, and one spot on the horizon was flushed with pink and gold, showing where the sun was setting.

Watching the pretty scenery, Edd let out a soft sigh; shoulders sagging. He sat on a bench by himself a few feet away from a large pond, with a packet of seeds in his lap to which he uses to occasionally feed the ducks that swam around in the area. He'd been sitting in that exact location practically the whole day, doing nothing but lollygagging, just waiting for time to go by. At this point, he feels like he's become one of those crazy bird ladies with how long he's been sitting there; and rubbing his sore backside, Edd is pretty sure is ass just turned square shape.

Edd's shivers increased as he felt a pricking cold sensation sinking through his skin, and he snuggled deeper into his jacket. He rubbed his hands together against the freezing wind, and let out a breath to warm them further. With night fast approaching, the temperature will be dropping considerably. It's going to be a real hassle to sit out in the cold for much longer.

Stretching his limbs, Edd gathered his belongings and slowly rose to his feet. He threw away the last remnants of seeds into the pond, where the ducks happily gobbled it all down. Edd shoved his hands in his pockets with a tired sigh, and then looked around the park. There weren't many people out and about at this hour. A few couples with their kids, and some old folks strolling around, most likely ready to leave the park as well.

Choosing a random direction, Edd started to walk away, head down and hands in his pockets as the grass crunched beneath his shoes. He pulled out his phone to see four missed calls from Matt, and a few text messages, all of which say relatively the same thing: Where are you? When will you be back home? And the most frequent one, are you okay? Edd rolled his eyes and stuffed his phone away. He knew Matt was only trying to help, but sometimes he wished his ginger friend would realize he needed some time alone to clear things up; and being alone wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Ever since Edd was forced to accept the truth about Tom's passing, Matt has been constantly fussing over him. It was grating on his nerves to say the least.

He checked the time, and was somewhat relieved to learn it was only 6 PM. Edd knows he should be heading home straight away; but he isn't quite ready to go back to his apartment yet. He'd been sitting outside in that bench the entire day, trying to avoid his involvement in whatever fate is to be bestowed to Tom's vacant apartment and the rest of his belongings. Edd couldn't bear to witness the end, the true end, of Tom's existence. To stand by and watch whatever traces of Tom were left behind to be wiped away.

He managed to salvage Susan, at the very least. No way would Edd allow Tom's most prized possession to be taken away.

In any case, sooner or later Edd would need to return home. He was bored of sitting outside anyways. He even brought a notepad along with him to draw and pass the time, but Edd had no luck when it came to inspiration. All he could do was mindlessly doodle random things; which oddly enough, resulted in various drawings of pineapples and bowling balls.

Strolling out of the park and heading onto the street, Edd turned right and continued to walk, opting to take the long way home. He knew by now where this path would take him, but he doesn't intend on stopping by Winchester Park this time. Edd had promised he would move on from his grief, and it wouldn't do him good if he kept visiting the grave site every chance he got, so he started to lessen his visits to a minimum.

Edd walked, and kept on walking for a while. The places he walked past all seem like a blurry mess in his vision. Unfocused and unimportant. Edd barely paid his surroundings any mind, keeping his head low and his gaze fixated on the ground in front of him. However, once in a while Edd would break out of his trance-like state whenever he passed by something that stirred fond memories from within him.

A camera for sale that's on display in the window of a shop across the street caught Edd's eye. Instantly he remembered the time when Tom spent all of their savings into purchasing a video camera for them to create a film of their own. The film may not have been all that great in the end, and the camera proved to be more trouble than it's worth, resulting in them returning it; but they had so much fun with the project that it hardly mattered. Edd sighed wistfully. There won't be any more of that now.

As he walked, Edd continued to head down memory lane, both literally and figuratively; unaware that the path he walked was far more familiar then he first realized.

Months may have passed since Tom's passing, but the tightness in Edd's chest hadn't eased. Along with the good, fond memories of the times they spent together on crazy adventures, Edd often recalled the last time he saw Tom. Strong waves of guilt and sorrow would always take hold of him then. Edd couldn't forget how he had failed to save Tom.  _I feel as if nothing good will ever happen again._  He lamented. His heart was so heavy he could barely carry it.  _Had I known that was the last time I would ever see him, I would've never tried pressuring him into talking. I should've trusted him to confide in us when he was ready._

Deep in thought, Edd had hardly noticed his surroundings have changed as he kept walking through town. Now he realized that he had left the busier side of town behind him and was trekking past a roll of houses in a quaint suburban area with a grass field stretching beyond.

Edd stopped in his tracks at the sight of the familiar neighbourhood. He didn't mean to end up here, but his feet had other plans in mind it seems. Edd's heart started to race. Just a little farther he could glimpse the scorch marks and charred remains of a house that is no longer standing.

Edd contemplated turning back the way he came. It wasn't too late to change his mind and race straight home, make some popcorn, and sit on the couch with Ringo to watch a film or something for the rest of the evening. He avoided coming to this place since the day they left it, and the memory that came from it was still too painful to recall.

However, even with that line of reasoning, his feet were still in motion; albeit at a slow pace. Something was luring him closer to the charred ruins. Morbid curiosity, perhaps?

Edd drew closer to the wreckage. Despite having been a whole year since the robot incident happen, he could pick up traces of the terrible smell of burning lingering in the air. Edd flinched, needing to pause for a moment with his eyes tight shut, as all the memories of that dreadful day came rushing back. He could hear Eduardo's anguished cries as he held onto Jon's body, and almost see Tom's scared face through the smoke as  _he_ shot him with a missile.

Forcing himself into motion again, Edd could see that most of the debris from the explosion had been cleared away, probably by the authorities. All that remained were a stretch of earth where the grass had burned away, broken bits and pieces of debris, and a crater where the house used to be.

Even though Tom was buried at Winchester Park, Edd felt closer to him here, the place where they shared so many fun moments together.

Unfortunately, it also carried the terrible reminder of  _his_ betrayal; though Edd tried not to think about  _him_ right now. Heck, to be completely honest he wasn't even sure if  _he_ is even alive. For all Edd knows,  _he_ could've perished in the robot crash after Tom shot him down, so Edd really has no idea what became of  _him_. But it's not like he was ever curious enough to find out the answer anyway, even after Matt suggested they should check out the crash site. Edd preferred to keep  _his_  fate a mystery.

Edd raised his face to the sky and closed his eyes. It was as though he were drowning; it was hard to breathe. Something that felt as heavy as a stone sat in his chest, where his heart had once been.

_I'll still mourn Tom, and I'll never forget him, but my life must go on._

Edd opened his eyes, and looked again at the leftover wreckage of their old home. "Stay safe." He murmured. "Wherever you are now."

As Edd turned away to leave this place, and go back home, a rumbling sound reached his ears. Edd froze, trying to identify the noise and the source of it. It sounded like a low pitched groan. Edd turned around, attempting to pinpoint where it was coming from when a slight movement among the wreckage caught his eye.

"Huh?" Curiosity pricking him, Edd kept his gaze fixated on the spot.

The pieces of debris and charred stone shifted aside, only to reveal a strange man lying among the ruins. Edd gasped in surprise. "What the-?" The question died away on his tongue, and he hurried over to help the stranger. He shuffled and side-stepped through the torn up wood pieces littering the place, watching his step as he reached the man.

"Oh my gosh, are you okay?" Edd inquired worriedly, tugging one the stranger's arms to help him to his feet.

The strange man coughed, and a small cloud of dust and ash manifested around them as the shifting debris settled. "Y-yeah, I'm fine." The man looked up at him. "Thanks for helping."

Adjusting him to his feet, Edd gave him a good look. He didn't look like your average homeless man taking shelter. The stranger is a lithe man, with dishevelled blond hair, a stubble, chiselled jawline, and the greenest shade of eyes Edd's ever seen. The man in question is wearing a long, dark grey overcoat, jeans, grey fingerless gloves, and black shoes.

The stranger yawned, throwing his arms out in a long stretch. "Man, what time is it?" He asks, blinking blearily. His voice is slurred, and laced with what sounds like an Irish accent. He paused, looking at his surroundings. "Wait- Where am I again?"

Edd stared at the man in dismay. "Are you drunk?"

The man turned to face him. "Maybe." He drawled out.

Edd fixed him with a look of suspicion and placed his hands on his waist. "Right. Do you at least remember what happened before blacking out?" He asks, already used to being in this situation. Edd failed to not reminisce helping Tom out of the same predicament, and a pang of hurt stung his chest at the memory.

The stranger shook his head. "Last thing I remember was leaving the bar." He scratched the back of his head. "I thought for sure this was the way back-" He broke off into a coughing fit.

Taking pity on the disorientated and clearly hung-over man, Edd placed a hand on his shoulder to steady him. "Here- I'll help you." He proceeded to sling one of the man's arms around the back of his neck and over his shoulders. He adjusted the man's weight, letting him lean against himself. "Alright, do you remember where you live?"

"I'm staying in a quaint, little hotel. Uh, Harrybrook I think it's called?" He replied sluggishly, his eyebrows furrowed as he wracked his fuzzy brain for details.

"Ah, I know where it is." Edd nudged him forward. "Come on; I'll take you there."

"Thank you."

Together, they left the semi-peaceful neighbourhood behind and made their way back to the busy streets. It was silent between the two of them. Edd threw occasional glances at the man leaning so heavily on him. The familiar action of supporting a half-drunk person with his own body as they walked through the bleak streets had Tom flashing in his mind. Edd recalled fetching his eyeless friend from bars after drinking too much with fondness. He remembered the countless times he had to practically drag Tom home and scold him for his reckless drinking. A sad smile formed on his face at the memory. At the time he'd always been irritated and worried. But now, helping this stranger, as weird as it is, made Edd realize just how much he missed doing this.

"So, you're staying in a hotel uh?" Edd began, unable to stay silent for a moment longer. "I take it you're not from here then?"

The man chuckled. "You got me."

"What are you here for anyway? This town isn't exactly known for its tourism." Edd prompted curiously, a glimmer of humour in his eyes. When was the last time he joked so freely?

"I'm here for business, actually." The stranger replied. "Things are looking up pretty great for my life."

"By getting completely plastered and passing out in a pile of ashes?"

The man paused for a moment, fixing him with a steady gaze. "Are you criticizing my life's choices right now?" His voice was deadpanned, but clearly not offended.

Edd shrugged with a cheeky grin. "Well what else am I meant to say to someone who is supposedly "working"?"

Now it was the stranger's turn to shrug. "Fair enough." He admitted. "But beer is too good to quit. Business or no business."

Edd chuckled, but then his expression turned sombre. "You should really be more careful of how much you drink; especially if you are in a place you are not completely familiarized with." He murmured. "This town is far more than dangerous than it may seem. You never know what can happen to you out here if you aren't in the right state of mind." Tom's death flashed in his head, and Edd had to stop himself from physically flinching.

The stranger scoffed. "Oh c'mon, how bad can this place possibly be? It's not even  _that_  big of a city-"

"Just take my word for it." Edd cut him off. He took a deep breath and sighed; exhaustion from the past few days taking a toll on him. "You could be killed when you least expect it."

The stranger eyed him with a mixture of weariness and curiosity. He looked as if he wanted to say more, but one look at Edd told him there wasn't much room for arguing, so he simply settled with: "If you say so." And left it at that. They returned back to silence for a brief while before the stranger laughed unexpectedly. Edd stared at him perplexed. "You know; you went so far to help me, some random drunk stranger, get back to his hotel room and yet we haven't even introduced ourselves!"

Edd realized with a start that the stranger had a point. "Guess you're right." He adjusted the stranger leaning against him. "I'm Edd Gold."

 _I know._ "Fitzroy." The man introduced with a cough. "Reagan Fitzroy."

The sun has long since disappeared from the sky by the time they arrived at the hotel's foyer, and the moon and stars took its place in the pitch black night up above them. Reagan recovered half-way to their destination and insisted on walking the rest of the way; arguing Edd helped him out way too much already. Still, Edd hovered close to him in case he needed assistance again.

They climbed the steps to the main entrance, and the blond man turned to face Edd, breathing out a relieved sigh. "Well, here we are at last." Reagan extended his hand out to shake Edd's. "Thank you so much for the help. I really appreciate it."

"Don't mention it." He grasped the blond's hand in his own, and was surprised by the firm grip he was met with.

"No, really- I am super grateful for your help." Reagan insisted, his tone of voice deadly serious. "If it hadn't been for you, I might still be buried under all that pile of rubble. Heck, who knows? I might've gotten even more lost, and even mugged!"

Edd shook his head, beginning to feel flustered at Reagan's intense gratitude towards him. "It's fine, just, be more careful in the future okay?" He pulled his hand back and turned away to leave. "See you around!" He threw a little wave.

"Wait, Edd!" Reagan called out, halting Edd in his tracks. The brunet faced him with a raised eyebrow and a quizzical expression. Reagan shuffled in his feet, as if hesitant to continue. "I was wondering . . ." He paused, ducking his head in embarrassment.

"What?" Edd asked.

"Well, I've been thinking about what you said. How wandering around at night can get you killed if you ain't careful." Reagan replied. "I don't know this town all that well, so that got me thinking- Could you possibly be my guide during my stay?"

Edd was so surprised by the blond's unexpected suggestion, he couldn't speak.

Reagan went on. "I admit I've had trouble finding my way around ever since i got here. I won't stay in town for very long, and I could even pay for your troubles. If you could, I'd be eternally grateful for your kindness."

It was strange, but Edd felt an odd connection to this newcomer. Reagan had been found lost and alone in the place where his home once was. The same location that once held so many joyous memories, but now serves as a painful reminder of what was lost in that one, fateful day.  _His_ betrayal had put a bigger dent on Edd's relationship with his friends than he cared to admit. Things were shaky between the trio after that day, and Tom's death only worsened the condition. Perhaps, if Edd had been a better friend, both Tom and  _Tord_ could still be here with him today.

A sudden compulsion to help pricked every hair on his skin. Somehow, Edd thought, it would be like second chance at helping Tom, and this time, he could succeed.

"Alright, I'll do it." Edd said decisively, giving a curt nod.

Reagan perked up with a bright smile. "You will?" When Edd confirmed with another nod, his eyes blazed with glee. "Oh thank you! Thank you! Thank you! You won't regret this, I promise! I will make this worth your while!"

Watching the ecstatic Irishman practically jump up and down in front of him, Edd had to stifle back the laugh of amusement that bubbled inside of him. Afterwards, they handed each other's contacts and went along their separate ways.

As Edd walked down the street and made his way back to his apartment, he reflected on the events that just took place. He felt good about his decision of helping Reagan. He felt better than he had in a long time. The short time he spent aiding Reagan made Edd realize just how reclusive he has become as of late. He doesn't remember the last time he genuinely laughed, or felt happy with anything. Sometimes he would smile or chuckle, but it has always been rather forced in an attempt to fool Matt into thinking he was fine. But what he felt back there was real.

Hanging out with someone other than Matt for a change might lead him toward the path of recovery. Edd felt a prickle of doubt and guilt nag at him at the idea. Matt is a good friend, and he is doing his best to console and support him; however, Edd can't deny that the ginger wasn't the best at subtlety. Matt tries to pretend things are alright when they really aren't, and when he senses Edd's overall mood, he tends to become overly "mother hen-ish". Most days Edd can handle, but other times, when he didn't feel particularly well with life, that kind of behaviour got under his skin.

Nearing his home, Edd braced himself for the earful he will undoubtedly hear from Matt; wondering where he'd been all this time, why he hadn't answered his text messages, and will probably try to lecture him in some way. But for once, Edd threw any worries he had out the window. His encounter with Reagan was invigorating in a way, and he wasn't about to let Matt dampen his mood. He shouldn't feel guilty about this! He is finally moving on!

After bidding goodbye to one another, Reagan remained on the steps of the foyer and watched Edd's retreating form fade in the distance. The friendly smile on his face slowly shifted into a sly grin. "So gullible." He chuckles under his breath.

It greatly amuses Reagan to no end how people can be so easily fooled by a pitiful individual in need; even if they are a complete stranger. No one would suspect a lost, semi-drunk outsider of having any ulterior motives. Admittedly, Reagan hadn't intended to make contact with his target this soon. It was by complete coincidence that he passed out in that wreckage after a night out drinking, but he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Reagan would take the opportunity presented and make the most of it.

 _Second step of the mission is completed- First interaction has been made._ Reagan thought with satisfaction, taking out a notepad from his pocket and making a tick on it.  _Now it's time for the third step- Fully integrate myself into target's life._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I DID IT!
> 
> Holy shi- this took so goddamn to complete, but I am so heckin proud of how this turned out. Thank you guys so much for your patience, but I must ask you to wait at least two months before requesting for the next chapter. My finals are this week, I'll be graduating soon, and then I'll go back to Brazil for vacation. I already have bits and pieces of chapter 13 ready (and yes, Tord is back), but I won't be able to work on it until I am done with school.
> 
> I'll see yah all later! ;)


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edd and Matt get "new neighbors", Tord returns to make Tom's life hell but realizes something he wished he hadn't, and Reagan continues with his mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! This is Flower1815 here, bringing you a new chapter of my little test subject. In celebration of my 20th birthday, I made this chapter extra big and with plenty of Tomtord content for you all. You guys have been amazing with your support, and I appreciate every review and comment you leave me. However, I would like to ask you guys a favor.
> 
> I have mentioned my good friend, juh-britto, to you before. They help me with the writing process for MLTS, came up with plenty of the heartbreaking moments in this fic, and they also drew the official art for the story (which I highly recommend you check it out if you haven't already on either of our tumblrs: heather1815 or juh-Britto) Well, here's the thing; they intend to travel over to the US at the end of the year to visit someone very dear to them and spend the holidays together, and so they opened up commissions on their blog to earn and save enough money for the trip. Please check out their blog and help them out if you can.
> 
> http://juh-britto.tumblr.com/post/175821733885/hey-guys-its-finally-happening-for-those-that
> 
> Their art is amazing btw- check out my new profile pic if you don't believe me; they drew it themselves! They also have a ko-fi if you just want to tip them, the link is on their description. Anything you can spare will help. MLTS wouldn't be what it is today without their impute, and I can't thank them enough as it is. Please, go out there and show your support to them in any way you can.
> 
> With that said, I hope you guys enjoy the chapter and I'll see yah all later! ;)

Matt narrowed his eyes as he glanced out the window.  _The days are getting shorter._ He observed, taking note of the sun's position in the sky.  _And the nights are getting colder. Soon winter will be here._ It was hard to believe that it's been exactly eight months since Tom's untimely demise. He never would've thought he and Edd would be able to cope with the pain they had felt back then; but they are moving on. Slowly, but surely.

"Matt? You alright in there?"

The sound of Edd's voice coming from his living room snapped Matt out of his thoughts. He opened the microwave and pulled the freshly-made bag of popcorn out. "Coming!" Reaching toward the cupboard, Matt poured the salty treat goodness into a bowl. Before leaving, he stopped by the fridge and grabbed a can of coke. He bought a boxful the day before and left it in his freezer just on the occasion Edd would come over to his place. This will surely keep Edd in a cheerful mood.

"Have you picked a movie yet?" Matt asks, stepping out of his kitchen and into the living room. When he didn't get an immediate response, his gaze landed on his friend; who is currently sitting on the magenta couch with his legs crossed. He'd invited the brunet over to his apartment in hopes of rekindling their shaken friendship with a casual movie night. Edd was fumbling around with his phone, staring at the screen intently and a little coy smile on his face.

"Edd?"

The brunet looked up startled, almost as if Matt had caught him doing something wrong. "Wha- what?"

Matt jumped back started, careful not to let any of the bowl's contents spill over. "Whoa easy there!" He laughed, albeit a little uneasily. "I asked if you picked out a film?"

Blinking rapidly, Edd shook his head. "No- sorry. You were taking some time, and I guess I got distracted." He rubbed the back of his head apologetically. Matt didn't miss the way the brunet's eyes flicked briefly to his phone screen.

"It's fine." Matt shrugged it off. "What you doing anyway? Are you talking to someone?" He tried to peer closer to get a good look at the phone, but Edd swiveled out of his range of sight.

"It's nothing." Edd replied briskly. He must've realized how odd his reaction was, and immediately relaxed and added with a sigh. "It's just some prompt requests and offers. Nothing tremendously exciting."

"Oh right, yeah…" Matt chuckled half-heartedly, trying to lighten up the mood again. He sat down next to Edd on the couch, setting the bowl of popcorn between them. "How's the- how is the art coming along?"

Breathing an exasperated sigh, Edd stuffed his phone away and leaned back on the sofa. "Not very good." He admitted. "I haven't been able to draw anything worthwhile for some time now. I just can't find any motivation to do so."

Matt patted him on the back and offered his friend the coke. "Ah cheer up! Maybe all you need is something to relax over and refresh your head." He reassured. "A good movie afternoon with some snacks will surely do the trick!"

Edd regarded his words and smiled. "Guess you're right."

"Of course I am!" Matt laughed. "Just you wait, you'll be back to drawing in no time." He clasped his hands and rubbed them together eagerly. "Now; what are we waiting for? Let's get this show on the road!"

He handed Edd the remote control for the TV. They started flicking through the various movies available, searching for something they'll both enjoy.

"We've watched plenty of horror films in the past. How about an animated one for a change?"

"Sounds good to me!" Matt agreed enthusiastically, grabbing a handful of popcorn and stuffing it all into his mouth.

They navigated through the large selection of movies displayed on-screen, occasionally expressing their thoughts to each other whenever they pause by a possible choice before moving on with their search. Being a lover of all things animated, Edd isn't picky when it comes to animation. He has some preferences, sure; but he isn't about to turn up his nose if a particular style doesn't appeal to him. He likes cheap, crappy horror movies for Christ sakes, his taste isn't exactly refined!

After nearly half an hour of browsing and discussion, they eventually settled with a stop-motion flick. It was on Edd's watch list since it first came out, though he never got around on actually watching it, and Matt was a sucker for the awkward movement and, in the ginger's opinion, "cutesy" animation. So they shrugged their shoulders, decided "why not?" and selected it for their afternoon movie section.

Edd pressed play, sat back, and took a sip of his cola as the logos came on screen.

After what he's been through lately, watching a film with Matt of all things really never crossed his mind. Probably because it seemed so mundane and… out of the norm from how he usually spent his days. Moping around, and doing nothing particularly exciting with his time until night fall. Mostly because all his attempts of performing tasks that usually brought some sort of emotion out of him, whether it be a positive or negative one, was replaced with empty numbness despite Edd's best efforts to cope.

They duo sat there, watching the movie play out in silence, save for the occasional comment here and there and the sound of munching popcorn.

About twenty minutes into the film, when the main character was attempting to converse with their dead relative for guidance before being chased down by evil ninja-witches, and Edd's attention was fixated on the screen with interest; loud noises could be heard coming from right outside of the apartment. Although obnoxious and kind of distracting, Edd didn't pay them much mind.

 _Just lousy neighbors._ He figured dismissively, eating more popcorn.  _They'll leave soon enough._

However, the sounds hadn't eased- quite the opposite happened, in fact. The noises coming from the hallway outside only grew louder in frequency, followed by voices that weren't even trying to keep their tone down.

Edd shifted in his seat with clear discomfort. He debated with himself whether he should go out there and outright tell them to be quiet, or try his best to ignore and pay attention to the film. He shot a questioning glance at Matt, wondering what he preferred but the ginger didn't turn to look at him as he raised the volume of the TV to its highest setting.

Upon closer look, Matt seems uncharacteristically stiff and rigid for some reason.

Edd brushed his doubts away, and turned his attention back to the screen. He tried his best to focus on the movie but every time he felt even slightly immersed in the story and characters, his mind would drift away back to the noises. A familiar tingle of dread made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, but Edd couldn't tell why. Something in particular about the voices outside set this feeling off in him, however he could not put a finger on it for the life of him.

The loud bumps and knocks that accompanied them didn't help matters.

Growing increasingly restless, and unable to keep his curiosity down and neither the alarm bells ringing in his head; the brunet finally conceded.

"The hell do you think the neighbors are up to out there?" Edd prompted with feign nonchalantness as he took a sip of his beverage.

" _Meh,_  who knows?" Matt shrugged indifferently while grabbing a chunk of popcorn. "Probably nothing exciting."

Edd wasn't satisfied with that answer. He couldn't help the lingering suspicion that Matt might be hiding something from him, and it might be connected to the neighbors out there in the hall.

A tremor coming from his pocket jolted him out of his thoughts. Taking the phone out, Edd read the message.

**(RF): So can you make it tonight?**

He went to unlock the phone in order to reply when his eyes briefly flickered over the date displayed above the message:

Friday, 6th of July.

There was nothing particularly out of the ordinary for this date. However, something seemed to finally click into place in his head. The loud noises outside. The neighbors who wouldn't stop talking. Matt's stiff posture. It all made sense now.

 _It's moving day!_ Edd deduced with a start. _The people making so much noise are our new neighbors; and they are moving in to the apartment next door. Tom's apartment._ His posture deflated with a pang of sadness when he realized what it meant, but quickly brushed it off. He shouldn't feel sad- he already knew this was happening one way or another, and leaving the apartment vacant to gather dust won't change the fact that Tom is dead. It's best to put it to good use for someone who actually needs a place to live.

Even if it meant-

Edd grimaced at the following thought.

Even if that the person leaving in the mornings to check the mail wasn't his grumpy, eyeless friend; Edd knew this was the best course of action to take.

He breathed out a heavy sigh. Taking a second glance toward his orange-haired friend with this new information in mind, it's no wonder Matt looks so stiff and uncomfortable.  _He thinks I'll get upset if I figure out what's really going on out there._ Edd resisted the impulse to bristle at the insinuation that he may be too emotionally weak to think rationally. He couldn't hold this against Matt. Tom was still kind of a sore topic to touch upon whenever he was mentioned between them, and Matt was just doing what he thought was best in his own anxious way. Edd can't really fault him for that.

A loud bump disrupted his thoughts. Edd shifted his focus to the noises coming from the hallway, trying to hear what they were saying. Funny enough, the voices stirred an itch of familiarity within him; though he couldn't quite place it. He's definitely sure he heard these voices before… but where?

Edd shook his head. He wasn't getting anywhere with this, and he is fairly sure he lost some pivotal plot points from the movie. "Alright, that's it." He jumped to his feet.

Matt looked up at him, startled. "Where you're going?" He asks worriedly through a mouthful of popcorn.

"I'm going to tell our neighbors to pipe down. They are making too much noise, and I can barely hear what's going on in the film." The brunet crossed the short distance between the couch and the door.

"Wait, Edd! It's fine- really!" Matt cried out, scrambling from his seat to try and reach out for him. "I- I don't wan- I don't really mind the noise all that much. I can try to-"

"Matt!" Edd abruptly cut him off, an edge of impatience in his voice.

The ginger instantly clamped his mouth shut, and fixed his worried blue gaze on his friend. Realizing he sounded harsher than he'd intended, Edd shot him an apologetic glance over his shoulder; his posture sagging as he released a tired sigh.

"It's fine, Matt." He tried again, this time with a much softer tone. "I mean it, really. I know what's going on and you don't need to hide it from me anymore. It's okay!" Matt ducked his head down in shame, his gaze downcast. When he lifted his eyes again, Edd was surprised to see sorrow and guilt brimming in his friend's stare. It honestly unnerved him in a way.  _What's the big deal?_

Figuring Matt was just upset he got caught trying to keep things from him; Edd shrugged it off as him simply being overly emotional.

"I know things haven't been exactly the same between us since… you know. But you don't have to keep every little thing that has to do with Tom a secret from me." Edd continued uneasily. "I know you mean well, but I am not unstable. We've discussed about renting out Tom's apartment, and I might've been upset at first, but we both agreed it was the best course of action to take." He grabbed the door handle as he spoke.

Matt's eyes widened. "Wait, Edd-!"

"Calm down, it's fine." The brunet opened the door just a crack. "I'm just going to tell the neighbors to quiet down a little, nothing worth so much drama. Maybe greet them into the complex while I'm at it."

"That's not what I-"

"I won't lash out at them over this. You worry too much, I'm telling you it's fine!" Edd insisted. He opened the door before Matt could make another protest, and he peered out into the hall.

"Hey, I'm sorry. I know you guys are new but could you please keep the noise down a bit? We're trying to watch a movie and-"

He froze. His words instantly dying out on his tongue when he saw two men he had never thought he'd see again standing before him; their belongings scattered around the hall whilst in the process of moving to their new apartment.

One of them was leaning back on the door frame of an apartment on the opposite side, sipping on a can of coke-  _diet_  coke, Edd noted with vivid disgust; while the other man was half-way through removing their belongings from a crate. They don't appear to have changed much since the last time they've seen each other.

Edd stared at them in disbelief. After all the crazy adventures he'd gone through, he had thought nothing else could shock him, but for a heartbeat he forgot how to breathe.

Staring curiously back at him, both looking perplexed and mildly confused, were none other than Eduardo and Mark.

"Eduardo?"

"Loser-? I mean- Edd?!" Eduardo blinked at him in disbelief. "You live here?"

"Uhhh, yeah?" Edd answered, highly uncomfortable with the situation that he's gotten himself into. Edd isn't exactly sure what their current stances are now. Are they still rivals? Are they… cool now? It's hard to tell after a whole year of not seeing each other. Doesn't help that the last time they crossed paths ended up being a terrible tragedy for both groups. "What- what are you doing here?"

"What's it look like?" Mark retorted, dusting his hands as he settled the crater down. "We're moving in, of course."

Edd's blood ran cold, and he gulped apprehensively. What did he expect? There is literally no other reason why they would be here now, today of all days, with their stuff all over the place. After a second to recompose himself he prompted. "You- you two are sharing the flat together?"

"What? No. There isn't enough space for the two of us in one apartment." Mark clarified, surprising Edd with his assertiveness.

In the past, Eduardo had always been the more vocal one of the group. But now the dark haired brunet was just standing in silence with his favorite beverage in hand, his face giving nothing away.

"Eduardo's taking the vacant apartment adjacent to yours, while I'll be living in the one across from his. Simple as that."

Though he'd already guessed, hearing his suspicions being confirmed out loud only made his blood run cold with dread; chilling him to the core.  _Out of everyone in this town looking for a place to live,_  Edd internally winced.  _Why did it have to be Eduardo of all people to move in Tom's apartment?_

Sensing anguish welling up fast inside his chest, Edd decided it was best to end this interaction immediately. It's bad enough running into them when he wasn't even sure what their relationship is; he doesn't need the humiliation of showing vulnerability in front of them on top of that.

"That's, uh, great I guess." He choked out stiffly; attempting to clear his throat to mask the uneasiness that he felt. "I'll be heading back inside now. Sorry for interrupting."

He was half-way behind the door when Eduardo called to him.

"Wait, Edd."

Edd stopped, but didn't step out again. Instead he merely peeked from the remaining gap of the door, his heart growing colder by the second. He could hardly stand to look at the other man.  _He's always so cocky and arrogant and pleased with himself. . . ._ He recalled with nagging frustration.

Then Edd realized that he seemed different now from how he had been before the incident.  _He hasn't made a single snarky remark to me… yet._

"We heard what happened to your friend." Eduardo murmured, seeming uncertain of his own actions. It was weird to see the usually brash and arrogant man be so hesitant and act sympathetic. But he held a look of genuine sadness in his eyes. Edd grit his teeth at the indirect mention of Tom.  _You weren't supposed to know about that!_  "I'm sorry."

Edd stared at him, unsure how to respond. He tried to choke out a "Thank you" because he knew that was what he was supposed to say. But his throat felt as if it was full of ash, and his grief rose until he felt it might burst out of him.

Still, he kept his emotions in check. His eyes blurred with sadness, Edd only gave a tiny nod of acknowledgement and headed back inside.

The door clicked shut behind him and his strength vanished, leaving only a familiar numbness that he'd grown so accustomed to the past days. Edd's shoulder's sagged and his gaze was downcast.

"Edd?"

He looked up at the sound of his name. Matt was still sitting on the couch, movie paused, his knees hugged to his chest with his face half-hidden as he stared at Edd with wide dismayed eyes. "Are you okay?"

Edd's mind was whirling. He couldn't think beyond this moment; he only suspected his best friend's involvement in the situation. He narrowed his eyes. "Did you know?"

Matt let out a long sigh, closing his eyes briefly as if he had to nerve himself for what he was about to say. The he faced Edd again.

"I'm sorry. I wanted to tell you, but there was never a right time." His blue eyes were seared with guilt.

 _In other words; you were afraid to make me upset._ Edd couldn't keep the bitterness out of his thoughts. Although he appreciates the sentiment, he would've appreciated more if he'd been warned ahead of time to better handle the situation.  _Doesn't Matt know by now that keeping things from me don't make them go away, but make them worse?_

Edd took a deep breath. "Why did you tell them?"

"Tell them what?" Matt prompted, clear confusion evident on his features.

"About  _Tom_!" Frustration made Edd hiss through gritted teeth. "Why did you have to tell them what happened?"

"I didn't!" Matt's eyes were genuinely mystified, and Edd realized the ginger was telling the truth; he hadn't revealed Tom's terrible fate to their so called former rivals. "The landlord must've probably mentioned to them or something. I would never say something so personal to those guys! I promise!"

For a moment that lasted a heartbeat or perhaps a full minute, Edd simply stared at him. Tension easing off his shoulders, Edd finally decided to relent and spare Matt from further distress. He looked away and sighed; running a hand through his hair as he went to sit back on the couch.

"Edd?"

"I'm fine, Matt. Just press play on the movie." Edd leaned back with arms crossed over his chest. He kept his gaze on the screen, but could still sense the ginger's gaze on him.

He heard Matt sigh in defeat and the film resumed; though neither of them appeared to be paying any real attention to the rest of it, now that tension was thick in the air between them.

Edd stared at the screen blankly, admittedly enjoying the aesthetic of the animation but never getting quite sucked in to what's going on; when a slight tremor coming from his pocket caught his notice.

Edd pulled out his phone to see another message, realizing with a start he'd forgotten to reply to the message before.

**(RF): Eddie?**

**(RF): Oi! Don't leave me hanging bud!**

He began to type back, glad to have something to distract him from the awkward occurrence that he'd just gone through.

**(EG): Sorry!**

**(EG): Got kind of sidetracked…**

**(EG): But yeah, I can make it!**

An instant reply popped on screen.

**(RF): Splendid! :D**

**(RF): Same time and place sounds good to yah?**

**(EG): Yup**

**(RF): Great!**

**(RF): Till then**

Edd closed his phone with small grin, feeling moderately better than he did now that he has something to look forward to at the end of the evening.

**(Meanwhile…)**

Wind swept across bleak and icy mountains, carrying with it flurries of sleet. Dark clouds blocked out the sun entirely from view, casting the landscape in shadows that only subsided for a split-second by the occasional flash of lightning that ripped through the sky.

Patrick stood firmly still amidst the storm, umbrella in hand, as he watched the soldiers work about the runway. His eyes squinted against the heavy rain and the strong, howling winds buffeting both his hair and uniform wildly in the air.

A pair of white lights appeared in the distance, heralding the approach of a helicopter. The steady sound of the rotating blades reached Pat's ears above the clamor of the storm, and before long, the aircraft itself came into view.

He observed in silent anticipation as the helicopter neared the helipad. One of the soldiers stood right in front of it, acting as a marshall, and used the glowing batons in each hand to signal the aircraft forward to land.

The helicopter's door slid open before the craft could even fully touch the ground, and a figure jumped out, seemingly not caring about the horrible weather he exposed himself to. If anything, he appeared to relish the freezing sting of the gale and rain against the injured side of his face.

"Home sweet home." He sighed contently.

"Welcome back, Red Leader."

Patrick greeted him with a courteous dip of his head, extending the umbrella over his leader's head to shelter him from the rainstorm. "It's good to have you back, sir. Hope you had a pleasant flight despite the dreadful weather."

"Indeed." Tord regarded his surroundings with a wistful glance.

After having to travel to four different bases in a matter of months, dealing with the idiocy of some of his soldiers and putting them back in line, Tord had longed to return home and resume his work on more important matters that actually deserve his time and attention.

He raised one hand and flicked his fingers, signaling for the soldiers who had been accompanying in the helicopter to move out. The soldiers exited the aircraft at his silent order, bringing with them a sealed tight crate. It was labeled "confidential" on the side with big letters, and etched in red.

"Should I know what is it that you got there with you, sir?" Patrick inquired, his gaze following the mysterious box with curious intent as the soldiers carried it inside.

"All in good time, Pat." Tord smirked. "Although frustrating at times, my time away has also been very fruitful. I managed to gather information that will prove to be most pivotal for our research."

And that's all he would say in the matter.

Tord headed for the hangar's exit, Patrick following right behind him, walking at a brisk pace. The Red Leader, although acknowledging the presence of his soldiers with a curt nod as they walked past him, barely paid them any mind. He has more pressing affairs to attend to, and he was eager to see his test subject's development up close after being gone for so long.

"So, how's subject #1826 doing?" Tord brought it up as soon as they got into the elevator, and out of earshot from the other Red Army members.

Patrick shot him a side-glance as he pressed the -3 button. "I thought you already knew the answer to that by now. We have been updating his progress all along after all." He said, closing the umbrella and letting it lean on the side of his leg.

"Yes, well, the last update you sent me was nearly a month ago and I want to know all the precise details." The Norsk stated, a hint of impatience edged in his voice. "Did he behave?"

"Yes, sir. He behaved exceptionally well in your absence." Pat replied. "Perhaps you should consider leaving again to keep on Tom's good graces?" He teased, a small smirk forming on his face.

"Oh ha ha! How clever of you!" Tord fake-laughed, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he narrowed his eyes. "Astounds me how you didn't become a comedian instead of working in this dump." He paused, his tone softening. "Still; it's good to know he wasn't being difficult with either of you."

Sighing, he ran one hand through his partially wet bangs. "How is he otherwise?"

Patrick shifted his feet. "His physical condition has improved drastically since we first acquired him. His body mass and weight are back to normal measures, all his injuries have healed, and there is no trace of sickness in him. Truly, he is in the best shape possible and I think you'll be glad with the end result."

"Is Paul putting him through more advanced exercises now that Tom's faring better?"

"Yes; and I believe they are in gym as we speak, sir." Pat continued. "We also altered his diet plan. We are serving him three meals a day, with small lunch breaks in between like fruits or crackers."

"And his mental condition?" Tord pressed.

Pat's gaze drifted away. "I'm not entirely sure. Thomas is very closed off, and it's hard to read him." His shoulders slumped and he leaned back against one of the elevator walls.

Tord blinked at him with surprise. For the first time in a long while, perhaps because he hadn't seen the Polish soldier in months, Pat looked genuinely tired.

"Pat?"

At the sound of his name, the Red Army general immediately composed himself with a tiny shake of his head. "Mentally; the results are still inconclusive. I need to perform a few more sessions to be sure."

Tord regarded him for a moment longer.

"You think he might be ready for the experiments?" He demands. His eyes narrowed.

"Soon; but not yet, sir." Patrick responded, clearing his throat. "Since we don't know much about the serum's nature, we have no way of knowing if it has any correlation to the subject's brain activity." He went on. "If were to start the experiments on Tom with the slightest chance of him being unstable, we have no idea how well that would translate with the serum."

Tord looked at Patrick and solemnly nodded his line of reasoning. "Very well." He conceded.

"Also-" The General added hastily. "The shipment of the purple stuff you ordered from our suppliers arrived last month. I took the liberty to store it in the lab for your use when the time comes."

"Did Tom see it?"

"Negative, sir."

"Good."

The elevator's doors slid open. Patrick stepped out; expecting his leader to do the same, but glancing back over his shoulder the Norsk remained unmoving.

"Aren't you heading for your office?" Pat suggested. "Being gone for so long, I thought you'd be dying to return to your quarters."

"Later. I want to check Thomas' progress for myself first." Tord answered briskly. He was restless to see Tom again, and how much he's changed. "Contact me should you need anything."

"Yes, sir."

They both nodded curtly and the lift's doors closed.

Alone in the elevator now, Tord raised the palm of his robotic hand and placed it over the panel in the wall where a scanner is situated next to the buttons. It is meant to read soldier IDs for clearance reasons. Not everyone is allowed to take the elevator, and some floors are off limits; especially the -5 level, where the serum experiments are being held in.

The scanner read the small screen that his palm displayed, and the confirmation sound rang above him. Tord pressed the button and leaned back as the lift set in motion once again. He was absolutely ecstatic to see the progress his test subject had made.

**(Meanwhile…)**

Breathless and sweating profusely, Tom sprinted as fast as his tired body would allow. He panted but kept on running despite his body's pleas to stop. His heart was hammering against his chest so hard that Tom felt as if it lodged against the bottom of his throat, and nearly suffocate him. Blood roaring loudly in his ears.

He leaped over the obstacles standing in his path smoothly, regardless of his rapidly decreasing energy. Tom's mouth felt parched, and it was tough to swallow. He was tired, and yearned for a pause to rest; yet the exercise felt rejuvenating to his being.

Using one last surge of strength in him to make it through the end of the lap, Tom pelted for the finish line. He felt eyes following his movements as he did so, and Tom risked a quick side glance to the far right of the tracks where Paul was standing. Although brief, he accidentally made eye contact with the Red Army commander; the latter even giving him an encouraging nod and a flashed a little, friendly smile.

Tom snapped his focus back to running, shaking his head dismissively. The world seemed to slow down despite his speed, and everything turned a shade darker. A sudden weight manifested on his back and coiled around his shoulders, like a snake constricting against its prey. Tom resisted the instinct to flinch when he sensed a cruel pair of sharp hands press up against his jugular.

" _ **Don't be fooled. ~"**_ The voice hissed in his head.  _ **"You know they are after only one thing, and that's why they are treating you so decently. ~"**_ It reminded him sternly.  _ **"It's all a ruse. Nothing more than an act for you to let your guard down. But now that you are onto them, they'll start to get desperate to regain your trust. You better not forget that! ~"**_

_I won't._

The voice vanished; allowing him the chance to complete the rest of the circuit.

Upon crossing the finish line, Tom skidded to a halt and hunched over to his knees, panting to catch his breath. His forehead was coated with sweat and his face was flushed red with heat.

"44 seconds!" Paul exclaimed, pressing the stop button on his stopwatch. "You are 8 seconds slower than last time; but considering this is your fourth lap today, I say it isn't all that bad."

Tom did not respond. He was too busy catching his breath back to his lungs to properly process the results.

"Think you can do 2 more laps?" Paul prompted, handing him a water bottle.

Tom snatched it out of his hand, still not speaking, and tipped the bottle into his mouth. A little bit more desperate to quench his thirst than he'd intended to, he drank the water clumsily and some of it dribbled down the corners of his lips and dripped off his chin and onto his sweaty shirt.

"Sure." He finally answered, breathless. "Just uh- just give me five minutes or so."

"Still having the lungs of a pug, I see?"

The unexpected, and yet familiar voice made Tom stop mid-swig and choke on the water. Spitting out what remained in his mouth, Tom looked up with wide eyes; thinking perhaps it was just the voice playing another prank on him. But there was no dark haze clouding his vision, and no ghostly limbs holding him. Not to mention the speaker sounded smooth and cool. Sure enough, Tom's fears were confirmed when his gaze landed on the imposing figure standing by the gym's entrance. A coy smirk was plastered on the man's face, hands folded neatly behind his back, and his one visible eye was glinting with what appeared to be a mixture of enthusiasm and interest.

Paul instantly straightened himself and saluted the Norsk as he strolled into the room. Tord acknowledged his commander with a nod as he approached, before turning his attention to Tom. "Hello, old friend."

A wave of dread and resentment spiked through Tom at the sight of the Norwegian man.He narrowed his eyes. "F#ck, you're back already?"

"Thomas! Is that any way to greet your leader?" Tord pretended to gasp, his eye sparkling with amusement.

"You're not my leader, much less my friend." Tom growled.

The Red Leader did not respond to his remark. Tord stepped closer to him, his gaze raking over the Brit with interest. Patrick wasn't kidding when he said Tom made a full physical recovery. The test subject who had arrived in the base underweight, sickly pale, and gaunt all those months ago has made a miraculous improvement.

Tord began to circle him, taking a closer and more detailed look at him.

Tom's skin tone took a healthier hue despite not getting any sunlight, and his frame is no longer frail bone and skin. He wasn't wearing any bandages, and Tord could see that most of the bruises were healed except for a few faint scars. He'd developed a good mass of muscles too; most notably on his arms and torso. His legs and thighs have also grown sturdy and fit from the exercises, and the dark bags that had accentuated his eyeless sockets have disappeared. Despite being a sweaty mess right now, Tom looks generally better than he did since the last time they saw each other. The pictures certainly didn't do him enough justice, and Tord was all the more glad he took his time to see Tom's development for himself.

On his part, Tom was growing increasingly uncomfortable with the lack of personal space between him and the Norsk, and the intense gaze roaming his body didn't make it any better. He kept his attention on Tord as he circled him, making sure to keep the Norwegian man on his line of sight at all times. Tom did not enjoy the way Tord was looking at him, and he found himself glaring at the man pacing around him.

"Not bad. Not bad at all." Tord murmured under his breath, nodding in approval as his gaze wandered Tom's form from top to bottom, and back up again one last time. His gaze eventually settled on Tom's unique black eyes, and he cocked his head to one side with a tiny smirk. "I see the life of a soldier is treating you quite well."

Tom turned to him fully and narrowed his eyes. "Uh, I think you mean the life of a test subject? At least that's the official term from what I've heard?" He pointed toward the number tag on his shirt, as if to prove his point. "Still; can't say the same for you." He gestured to the burned side of the Norsk's face.

"Anyways, where were you before I interrupted?" Tord quickly changed the subject, and switched his attention to Paul; seemingly ignoring Tom's comment altogether.

 _Prick._ Tom fumed irritably, taking another sip of his water bottle.  _Commie's been here for five minutes, and he is already grating on my nerves._

"I'm having test subject #1826 run laps around the tracks, sir." The Red Army Commander reported, showing him the timer on the stopwatch.

Tord eyed the numbers with a critical eye. "Decent, but I wouldn't go writing home about it." He hummed pensively. "Mind if I stay and watch? It would be a good way to learn where his strengths and weaknesses lie for when I begin his training."

"Training?!"

For the second time that day, Tom spat out his drink. He wiped his face clean with the back of his hand, and shot the two soldiers an incredulous look. "What training? What are you talking about?"

The Red Leader pinched the bridge of his nose with sigh, his lips quirked upward in the form of a small grin. "Oh Tom, you mean to tell me you haven't pieced it together?" He teased. "I know you're dense, but surely you must've suspected something out of the intense exercises we put you through? All of this isn't just for the sake of keeping you fit, you know. If that were the case, I would just have you running on a treadmill with a bottle of Smirnoff hanging on the other end and it would probably work just as well!"

"The hell you talking about?"

"What do you think? You are going to be a soldier, Tom."

Tom froze with shock at his words. He felt as if he'd been hit in the chest by a ten-pound sledge hammer, and was standing there stunned and staring in disbelief at the f#cker who assaulted him. For a second, Tom hoped he just imagined or misheard what Tord said; however, judging by the clear satisfaction on the Norwegian's face it was evident he'd heard correctly.

Anger soon replaced shock, and Tom clenched his fists with a scowl. He wasn't even sure what he was supposed to say. What? Why? F#ck? No? Uh? Knowing he would make a blunder of himself if he attempts to speak, Tom resorted to follow his most basic urge at the moment.

He flung the water bottle at Tord's face.

Foreseeing his moves, the Red Leader effortlessly caught it mid-air before it could strike him. Tord felt Paul shrink back in shock beside him, looking back and forth between him and Tom anxiously; anticipating the situation to escalate any moment now. But Tord was calm- in fact, he was amused by the eyeless man's antics.

He looked at the bottle in his hand, then turned back to Tom. "I'll let it slide, this time." He warned.

His comment seems to stir Tom's fury further, and the Brit marched up to him stiff-legged until they were practically nose to nose. "No. There's absolutely no f#cking way I will ever be another one of your stupid soldiers!"

Tord frowned. "Your future is non-negotiable at this point, Thomas." He pointed out matter-of-factly. "You signed your life over to the Red Army when you took the deal, remember?"

"To be a test subject for your stupid plans. That's it. I didn't know about this garbage when I agreed!" Tom snarled.

"Admittedly, at the time this wasn't part of my plans either. But after giving some thought on the situation, I realized it's the best course of action for you." Tord reasoned coolly. "We can't afford to transport you out in the middle of the battlefield. What's the point of a super-secret weapon if it's impractical? You'll be of much better use in the front lines, where you may shift if we ever need to turn the tides of battle to our favor."

Tom stumbled backward, hardly believing what he was hearing. Being the commie's test subject was bad enough; but now he wants him as a soldier too? Tom shivered in disgust at the thought of being just another one of Tord's stupid, brainless, and obedient pawns. The image of wearing the ridiculous red and blue uniform made him nearly visibly retch.

From the sidelines, Paul stepped closer to them. "Sir, I sincerely urge you to reconsider." He spoke up. "All Red Army members joined by choice, and Thomas should get the same rights as they did."

Tom glanced at him in surprise. He wasn't expecting Paul to jump to his defense against his own leader's judgement. However, Tom was quick to crush any presumption that Paul was doing this out of some resemblance of care he may have for him.

Tord turned to his Commander with narrowed eyes. "I already gave him the choice to join us, and he did so willingly."  _You forced me into it you prick!_ Tom bristled at the reminder of the threat put over his friend's lives. "I don't see why I have to give him a second chance if he's already part of our organization anyway."

Paul shook his head, looking troubled. "Pat's not going to like that, sir."

"Then Pat can discuss this with me himself." Tord retorted through gritted teeth, his patience running thin. Paul sighed in defeat, dipping his head toward his leader and stepping away again.

A sudden pressure increased inside Tom's head and his gaze darkened.  _ **"Shouldn't you be happy? You're getting promoted from lab mutt to loyal hound! This is the greatest thing you will ever achieve in your miserable existence. Might as well commit to the position. ~"**_ The voice commented ponderingly with a hint of a chuckle, patting his head forcefully.  _ **"Or… you should take this as a bigger incentive to go through with your plan. Whichever you prefer. ~"**_ The hand patting his head grabbed a hold of his scalp, sinking nail like claws into his skull and pulling hard. Tom winced.  _ **"Vacation is over! Time to start acting, or else! ~"**_ The heavy weight constricting his brain seemed to uncurl and release him, and his vision dimmed back to normal.

"Now then, if there aren't any further arguments perhaps we should resume with your exercises." Tord clasped his hands together, straightening his posture and with his chin raised to assume a more authoritative appearance. His one gray eye gleamed back at Tom mockingly, as if daring him to challenge his power.

Tom glanced back at him, muscles still stiff with outrage- or maybe it's just from all the exercises he's done so far. He wanted to argue. He wanted to keep on defying him for every little thing, and throw insults at the commie's face. But what's the point of any of it anymore? Not give Tord the satisfaction of obeying him? You would think with the constant desire to die floating around in his head, he would have gotten better on his priorities, but evidently not. Tom's rivalry with Tord is not something easily brushed over no matter what circumstances they're in.

Mustering all his self-control, Tom simply sighed and nodded briskly. "Fine." He begrudgingly relented.

Catching Tom's gaze, Paul cleared his throat and nodded solemnly. "Two laps."

Tom took a deep breath and walked over to the starting point, well-aware of the Norsk's gaze following him. He took position; standing with his feet about shoulder-width apart with his right leg just behind the starting line- and waited for Paul to give the signal.

From the corner of his vision, Tom could see Tord standing off to the side of the tracks next to Paul. Tom elected to ignore his presence, and pretend he wasn't currently in the same room as him; or that he was standing in such a close proximity of the Norwegian man. He caught a glimpse of Tord's robotic arm and remembering what happened the last time he'd been present on his physical evaluation, Tom stared at the device intently- silently urging it to glitch again to get Tord out of the room. It's times such as these Tom wished he'd been given psychic powers along with the rest of his  _gifts._

"And… go!"

At the signal, Tom pelted away at once as Paul pressed start on his stopwatch. Tord watched Tom race through the tracks, his gaze pinned on the eyeless man as he leaped over the obstacles at a decent speed.

Not taking his eyes off the test subject, Tord addressed his Commander. "Anything unusual happened while I was gone?"

"Unusual, sir?" Paul echoed, raising one eye-brow in confusion.

"With him." Tord nodded in Tom's general direction. "Has he demonstrated any odd behavior changes as of late?"

Paul shrugged. "Nothing out of the ordinary, sir."

Tord pursed his lips, unsatisfied. "Any more fainting episodes?"

"Negative, sir. Ever since his withdrawal subsided, Thomas hasn't displayed any signs of fatigue or illness." The Commander fidgeted. "Although he does get sluggish from time to time, and he often complains about headaches."

Tord hummed thoughtfully, his hand trailing over the designs of his prosthetic one continuously. "And what are you giving him? Pat mentioned you changed his diet according to the improvement of his condition."

"Normal meals. Mostly what the mess hall serves for the day, with the exception of red meat."

The additional information caught the Red Leader's interest, drawing his attention away from the tracks to look at the man beside him intently. "No red meat? Why is that?"

"Tom made his distaste abundantly clear when we served it to him the first time." Paul admitted. "After that, he insisted on only fish and chicken."

 _Interesting bit of trivia._ Tord narrowed his eyes. He was brought out of his thoughts when Tom raced past them, panting profusely as he crossed over the finish line. His face was flushed red with the heat of the exercise, and his pacing was slow, if a little sloppy.

As soon as he reached the end, Tom collapsed to the floor; chest heaving as he fought to catch back his breath.

Tord looked over to Paul.

"50 seconds- slightly slower than last time." He states, showing him the timer on his stopwatch.

Tord frowned.  _His stamina leaves a lot to be desired._ He thought exasperatedly. Then his aggravation gave way to determination.  _But I know he can run much better than this!_

Fortunately, Tord knows just what exactly he needs to bring out the best of the eyeless man.

He walked up to where Tom was splayed on the floor, still panting. Tord loomed over him with his arms folded behind his back and nudged the test subject's body with one foot. "Get up."

Tom looked up at him. "Yeah yeah- just uh- just give me a second."

"It's already been a second." Tord stated firmly. "C'mon. The sooner you are done with this, the faster you can take a shower. You smell awful."

At the insult, Tom's gaze drifted from the ceiling to glare at the Norwegian man towering over him. Wincing at the effort in his tired limbs, Tom heaved himself to his feet. "Fine. Let's get this over with." He spat.

The Brit walked back to the starting point and readied himself into position. He still occasionally swayed from side to side, having not fully recovered yet; however, he patiently waited for Paul to give him the signal.

Watching him intently, Tord managed to suppress the grin the threatened to form on his face as he played his plan over again in his head.  _Let him have a head start._

"And… go!"

Tom rushed away immediately. He pushed himself forward despite the constant protests of his body for him to stop and rest, but he'll only be able to do so after he's done with the dumb exercises. Tom's chest tightened with the lack of breath, and he felt his lungs practically screaming. The world seemed to close around him, but he pushed onward, his vision narrowed to a tunnel, fixed only on the tracks.

Suddenly, the sound of thrumming and fast footsteps catching up to him reached his ears. Before Tom could fully process it, Tord appeared right next him; matching his pace effortlessly. Tom looked at him in bewilderment.

"What the f-?!"

"Why so shocked, Jehovah?" Tord taunted knowingly. "At the rate that you're running, even a crippled turtle would outrun you."

Tom scowled. "Give me a break, you stupid commie! This is my sixth lap today to your first – cut me some slack, will you?"

Tord smirked. "Grouchy much?"

They jumped over the obstacles standing in their way together, with Tord taking the lead by a few inches ahead of Tom. However, despite his lazy speed it was clear the Norsk was only pacing himself to stay in step with the tired test subject. He can ditch him any time he wants but opted not to yet just to aggravate the Brit further.

While Tord leaped over the barriers in his way with smooth precision, Tom was clumsy in his lack of energy and his foot accidentally caught the upper-edge of the obstacle; slowing him down as he staggered forward and knocked the barrier to the ground. He quickly put his hands out in front of him to prevent himself from face-planting the floor.

"Classic stupid Tom! ~" Tord laughed, leaving him behind as he raced on ahead. "Watch your step, or you're just going to keep eating dust."

Fuming with anger, Tom hared after Tord as fast as he could. No way he was gonna let the commie get the best of him.

"Take it easy!" Paul called after him. "It's not a race, remember?"

 _Tell that to Tord!_  Tom raced harder.

"C'mon Thomas, don't be like that. Second best is nothing to be ashamed of!" He heard Tord laugh way up ahead.

His lungs ached. A cramp stabbed his ribs. Tord was already halfway back. At this rate, the Norsk would be able to lap him by the time he reached the finish line.  _How can he run that fast? He's a smoker!_ Tom thought incredulously. He forced himself to keep going. The floor flashed beneath him as he fought for each breath. Tord stopped running and stood next to Paul by the end of the tacks to watch him. Dragging in another breath, he hurtled the last few meters and skidded to a halt beside them.

"I- I did it! Ha ha…" Tom cheered pathetically, throwing his arms up but giving up half-way to let them rest by his sides. "In your… face!" He pointed at Tord, jabbing him on his chest weakly.

"The best soldier is the one who's still fighting at the end of the battle. Don't use up all your strength in the first fight." Tord advised coolly.

Tom frowned. "Whatever; just give me the damn water bottle."

Deciding he had enough fun tormenting the poor Brit for today, Tord obliged to his request and tossed the bottle over to him. He turned to Paul. "How was the time this lap?"

"42 seconds! He did much better this time around." Paul exclaimed.

 _Of course he did._ Tord thought smugly.  _Tom would never let me best him without trying. All he needed was a little motivation._ And though it was not his intent, he actually had a lot of fun racing Tom; even if it was just to nag him into hurrying up. It reminded him of the good old days when they had physical education together as children.

 _But Tom can still improve._  He pushed the childish thoughts aside and shifted back to his leader persona.

"I think Thomas needs a little demonstration on how it should be done." Tord decided. "Paul, will you please do the honors?"

"Yes, sir."

Paul tore away, following the line of the tracks at a steady pace.

Tord beckoned Tom over. "Watch him closely." He ordered as the Brit neared and stood beside him. Upon closer inspection, Tord realized how completely spent and unsteady Tom was on his feet. He placed one hand on the eyeless man's shoulder to steady him. He immediately felt him tense in his grip, and Tom tried to brush him away; however, although his grasp was not firm, it was persistent and kept Tom from nearly falling over.

"See how much space he covers with each step. Watch how he stretches forward each time his feet leave the ground. Speed is vital, but you need to be in control of the speed." Tord murmured.

Tom watched attentively how Paul curved his leg with each stride. The Red Commander was at ease with his movements as he raced through the tracks, and doesn't appear to be the least bit tired by the time he skidded to a halt beside them.

"One last lap. Got your breath back?" Tord asked.

Tom sighed. "Yeah."

"Don't aim for speed." Tord warned. "You need your strength later."

Tom dipped his head and walked over to the starting line. As soon as Paul gave the signal to go he broke into a run, not pushing hard at first but gaining rhythm and speed as he crossed the tracks. He focused on each bound, reaching out with his feet a little farther before they touched the ground. He pushed harder with every stride until he was aware of nothing but the steady thrumming of his feet and the way his breath fell in time with his pace. He was suddenly moving with ease and hardly noticed any shortage of oxygen in his lungs.

"Much better! You got 32 seconds this time around." Tord's voice surprised him. He'd completed the lap of the running track already, so focused that he hadn't seen him. He pulled up, slowing to a halt before turning and strolling back to his side.

"Nice work, Tom." Paul acknowledged him with a dip of his head. "I think we're done for the day. Go ahead and shower."

"Yes!" Tom breathed in relief. "Thank god, I thought I was about to throw up my lungs all over the floor from so much exercise."

Tord rolled his eyes. "Don't be so dramatic, Thomas." He flashed him a knowing grin. "You'll get used to them in time."

Merely scoffing in reply, Tom picked up a fresh change of clothes and headed for the restroom in the back of the gym. Tord watched him leave, getting farther away until he entered the bathroom and disappeared from sight.

"So…"

Paul's voice jerked Tord out of his thoughts, and he blinked in confusion. "So?" He echoed.

"Why didn't you tell us you were planning to make Tom a soldier?" Paul crossed his arms, staring at him as he patiently waited for a reasonably good explanation.

Tord sighed. "I had a hunch Tom might've grown attached to the two of you, and vice versa, in my absence. I didn't want to potentially sour this little trust triangle you got going on by having either of you feeding him that information." He admitted. "Tom has a tendency to take things a lot more personally than they're intended to be. He's… interesting that way." He paused, running his organic hand through his locks. "He wouldn't have taken it well had you or Pat told him. It's best to have his anger target someone who already had plenty of experience in the past."

"Hm, and have three people be disappointed in you as opposed to only one – yes, very good planning on your part if I say so myself, sir." Paul muttered somewhat condescendingly. "You could've just ordered us to not tell him, if that were the case!"

"It wouldn't have worked – Tom would've just taken that as a bigger offence." Tord stated coolly. "Anyway, It doesn't matter anymore. What's done is done, and now you know."

Paul tsked, his eyes gleaming in anticipation of trouble ahead. "You're the leader. But Pat ain't gonna like this one bit. You know how he is with keeping vital information from the two of us."

Tord shrugged stubbornly. "Patrick will just have to accept the decision."

"If you insist, sir." Paul frowned. "However, I must remind you that our schedules are kind of in a tight fit. Between dealing with the formal aspects of the base and evaluating Tom's condition twice a week; it will be hard for either of us to find time to oversee Tom's soldier training on top of all that."

"Don't worry, Paul. I already took all of that into consideration when I made my decision." The Norwegian man dismissed his concerns. "Which is why I had my schedule re-organized to fit in time for Tom's training."

Had he been drinking, Paul would've surely spat it out all over the floor by now. " _You'll_  mentor him?" He sputtered, staring at his leader incredulously. "Is that a good idea, sir?"

Tord crossed his arms. "Why shouldn't I?" He asked, feeling annoyance beginning to sour his good humor. "This isn't the first time I personally train soldiers; and Thomas is a special case."

"Because you two don't get along." Retorted Paul matter-of-factly. "Leaving you alone with him is the biggest recipe for disaster I ever heard. Anything goes wrong, and you'll immediately go at each other's throats – you said so yourself! Wouldn't it make more sense to have either Pat or I to mentor him? You know… someone he actually trusts?"

Tord hesitated. There was some truth in what Paul said, but Tord knew that he couldn't give the task to any other person. He had to have Tom under his own guidance to keep a close eye on any signs of the serum affecting his performance, and make sure he stayed loyal to the Red Army. He knew the most logical choice would be to have either of his most trusted soldiers to train him. Yet something made him reluctant to give Tom to either of them. They don't have quite the same extensive knowledge about Tom the way that he does.

"My mind's made up." He stated curtly. "He's part of the Red Army one way or another, so he'll have to get used to my presence eventually. We can't keep delaying that, so might as well cross that bridge as soon as possible."

A curious, and yet somehow teasing hum reached his ears. Tord turned to Paul, blinking in surprise when he noticed the Commander staring at him disbelievingly. He narrowed his eyes in return. "What?"

"Sir… do you still harbor feelings for him after all?"

Tord's mechanical fist immediately clenched. Paul's words have probed a Pandora's box of emotions he'd so carefully locked away and abandoned in the deepest part of his subconscious; buried beneath an endless pile of duties and future plans he would so often lose himself to, in order to feed his ambition and aspirations as an army leader, and thus, keep him blissfully ignorant of their existence.

His mood turning stone cold, Tord was quick to grab a hold of himself before he could be swept back to the contents of that particular box, and fixed Paul with a deadly glare. "No, I don't." He snarled, straightening his posture to a more authoritative attitude. "Tom is nothing more than a test subject, who just so happens to be the key to victory to my conquest for world domination. Other than that, Tom means nothing to me. Are we clear on that fact?"

Paul opened his mouth to reply, when another voice cut in.

"Hey Paul! I think the ventilation system in the bathroom is busted – it's way too hot in there!"

They looked up just in time to see Tom exit the restroom, wearing  _only_ pants as he dried the bare upper part of his body with a towel.

Tord's face heat up at the sight of Tom's shirtless form standing several feet in front of him, melting away all remnants of his anger as he stared at him in awe. His one-eyed gaze raked over the eyeless man's features, tracing every detail of his well-built and toned chest. Tord realized with exhilaration that Tom was still wet and coated in water as the tiny specks caught the light and gave his appearance a more radiant look, and the Norsk watched as the eyeless man dried himself slack-jawed in amazement.

"Well, I can certainly see why you're called the  _Red_ Leader."

Paul's teasing remark cut through Tord's thoughts and he immediately blinked back to reality. With greater difficulty than he cared to admit, Tord tore his gaze away from the shirtless Brit, and glanced at his Commander who's looking up at him with a smug expression.

Tord froze, feeling panic rise within him. "Was my staring really that obvious?"

"You were practically drooling, sir." Paul replied simply, unable to keep the mirth out of his voice as he gestured toward the moisture coating the Norsk's chin.

Flushing in embarrassment, Tord wiped away the dampness from his chin with the back of his hand. Despair seized Tord, as the terrible realization that Paul had been right dawned on him.

_No… no! This cannot be!_

What was supposed to be nothing more than a childish crush for Tom – something Tord had taken great lengths to get over and forget about in order to pursuit his goals, has come back to haunt him. The emotions he worked so hard to shoot dead and bury six feet under, have risen from the grave like a strike of lightning through his body.

He risked another glimpse of the eyeless man, mortified at the notion of Tom having seen his slip up and dumbfounded stare. Tord breathed a sigh of relief when he noticed Tom had been too busy drying himself to really pay attention to what they were doing. His stare lingered a couple seconds longer and watched the Brit put on a shirt; all the while despising the familiar fluttering sensation stirring in the pit of his stomach as he admired the sight.

Anger and frustration flared up inside of Tord, quickly squashing down these invasive emotions with an iron fist.  _I am the Red Leader, and future ruler of the whole world._ He reminded himself solemnly.  _I cannot be distracted by insignificant emotions – they lead to weakness, and I am not weak!_  He'd already made an exception for Paul and Pat in his life, he can't afford to be soft-hearted now.

"First you want Tom as a test subject, then as a soldier… next step I guess would be to have him as your-"

Tord did not let the Commander finish his sentence. He spun around, looking furious, and Paul instantly regretted his words as he was grabbed by the front of his uniform by the Red Leader.

"This changes nothing." The Norwegian man stated, his voice deadly quiet and yet very clear. "Mark my words; if this ever gets out to anyone other than the two of us, the soldiers will be wondering why we haven't had a taco Friday for the last two years, capiche?"

Paul blinked at him, more bewildered than afraid by his leader's threat. "Yes, sir."

"Uh… am I interrupting something?"

Tord let go of Paul at once, and they quickly composed themselves as they turn to address Tom; who'd been standing there for a while in clear confusion.

"Ah yes! The ventilation system. Right." Tord cleared his throat, straightening himself. "Paul, would you be so kind to have a look at it while I escort Thomas to his quarters?"

"I can walk there by myself, you know." Tom remarked dryly.

"Oh, I am sure that you can!" The Norsk grinned, his voice smooth and condescending. "However, there are some things that I must discuss with you."

Tom groaned in exasperation and appear to roll his non-existent eyes, but remained quiet as he walked past Tord and headed toward the gym's doors. Tord chuckled softly under his breath and followed suit, keeping pace with the huffy test subject.

Paul hadn't uttered a word throughout the exchange, but Tord noticed that his eyes were glowing with amusement as his gaze followed the pair leave. His interaction with Tom was obviously entertaining the Commander greatly. Tord felt a self-conscious prickle ripple through his skin, and he looked away awkwardly; keeping his gaze anywhere else as he exited the gym with Tom.

As soon as the doors slid shut behind him, Tord felt instant relief flood through him.

Together, they trekked through the long corridors of the lab level. Tord appeared to have something on his mind, and Tom grew increasingly impatient.

"Alright." Tom began with a weary sigh. "What's so important that you just had to make me put up with you for longer than I would've liked?"

Stifling the laugh bubbling in his throat, Tord merely regarded the eyeless man walking alongside him intently. Tom already hasn't taken the news of his soldier training very well, so imagine how he'll react when Tord tells him that he's going to be the one in charge of said training? Tord shrugged. No matter what way he goes about it, Tom's anger is inevitable; so he might as well out with it.

"Paul and Patrick have done an excellent work with your improvement thus far. However, as their duties to the army come first, neither of them will be available to aid in your training as a soldier." Tord paused and watched Tom's expression shift slightly as he listened carefully. "So I will be personally in charge of overseeing your training."

He waited for anger to spark in the Brit's dark, empty sockets, and a resentful curse to be spat his way as he was pinned to the nearest wall by the neck. But Tom merely looked at him, took a deep breath and said: "Fine."

Tord turned to him in bewilderment. "Wait… you're okay with this?" He asked, genuinely stupefied by the reaction he got.

Tom shrugged. "What's the point of getting angry over something that's out of my control? Yeah it sucks, but it's not like I can do anything to change it now."

 _Who are you, and what have you done with Tom?_ Tord nearly said out loud, but curbed his tongue at the last second. Looking closely at the test subject now, he realized how miserable and defeated Tom appeared to be. Even after he'd taken a shower, Tom remained tired. Tord couldn't help but frown in disappointment. He'd been expecting –  _anticipating_ even! – for Tom to revolt like the stubborn little spitfire that he knows and-

Tord slammed the breaks on that train of thought at once.  _Goddamn it, Paul!_ Frustration welled up inside of him. Why did he have to say anything? Tord had his emotions and thoughts well under control until he had them pointed out to. Now that he is made aware of their existence one more, Tord is struggling to keep cool and not acknowledge them at any given chance.

Doing his best in disregarding them, Tord jerked out of his thoughts and realized they were standing in front of Tom's quarters.

The door slid open with a quiet hiss and Tom strolled inside, with Tord peering into the room from the entrance. He was surprised to find that Tom's living arrangements have gained a lot more character since the last time he'd been here.

There were shelves attached to the wall opposite the doorway, with a limited selection of books. Tord guessed Pat had lent some to Thomas after the latter complained of boredom, and possibly to reward him for his good behavior as well. There's a simple, cube-shaped, navy blue radio by his nightstand displaying the time and date in neon green numbering; next to a lamp. A stack of blank sheets of paper are kept in one corner of the room, with a few pens scattered around. And glued on the surface of a dart board, hanging on the bathroom door, was a crude drawing of Tord with darts stabbed all over the drawing.

Tord raised one eyebrow in amusement. "I can see you made yourself right at home." He chuckled.

"Yeah yeah, laugh all you want; but I couldn't stand taking naps all the time, and this was the best Paul and Pat could do for me." Tom turned around to face Tord with arms crossed over his chest and sighed tiredly. "When… will we start training?" He hesitantly asked.

"In two weeks, more or less." Tord murmured, making a quick mental revision of his schedule for the next few days. "You don't have to worry about the specifics. I will come for you when the time comes."

It dawned on him then that Tom wasn't worried about missing the training, but rather, dreading it.  _Idiot._ Tord berated himself for his mistake, then followed up with a chain of curses for even caring about it in the first place. Why should the Red Leader care whether or not his test subject is happy with his fate? It's not his fault Tom hadn't seen this coming when he signed his life over to him!

And yet… how come he felt melancholic all of a sudden?

It is then that Tord remembers how much he despises when Tom became curt and unresponsive, no matter how much he'd tease the Brit. Tom is no fun when he's like that.  _Uh yeah! It's boredom that I'm feeling – no way in hell this could be a sadness of any kind._ He tried telling himself that, when an idea sparked inside his head and he grinned.  _And I know just the thing to get a reaction out of him._

"Ah! I almost forgot. I got something for you." Tord practically purred. He fumbled with the inner pocket of his uniform, looking for something. Tom's eyebrows shot upward in sudden interest, but he eyed the Norsk wearily; as if he were expecting the man in red to pull a dirty trick on him. "You behaved so well while I was away, and you did good today. I think you deserve a reward."

Tom didn't know what he was expecting to get, perhaps a box of dog treats because that's how petty Tord is. However, as soon as the Norwegian man pulled out his prize from his pocket, Tom let out a barely audible gasp as he stared at the familiar teddy bear with the iconic unibrow in place of its of eyes.

"Tomee bear!"

Tord held the plushie out for Tom to take, and it took everything he had to not swipe his childhood bear immediately out of the Commie's grasp. For all he knows, Tord is just setting a trap for him.  _How did he get this? Tomee bear is back at-_  Tom looked at his dear plushie for several heartbeats, his expression turning to one of confusion before settling on shock as he slowly pieced the pieces together and looked back up at Tord.

Horror welled up inside of Tom. "You… you went near  _them_?!"

Tord regarded him with a curious gaze and cocked his head to one side. "Define: near."

Horror gave way to fury, and Tom bristled with rage. There was nothing holding him back from attacking Tord right here and now. Tord broke his end of the deal, and Tom doesn't have to obey him anymore.

He was about to launch himself at the Norsk and attack, but Tord had predicted his reaction and pressed a button on his robotic arm. Tom blinked in surprised when his body went rigid against his will, his muscles cramping at once, and found himself unable to move.

"Ah ah ah! Let's not break your streak of good behavior now, Thomas. It would be a shame if I had to take away some of your privileges so soon after my return." Tord tutted.

A muffled growl of frustration rumbled from Tom's throat as he tried in vain to move any of his limbs, but they were all unresponsive and tucked close together against his body.

"Don't bother. It's another feature of the chip we have implanted on your spine, remember? Be thankful I hadn't used a controlled shock this time! Your body is completely paralyzed until I decide to free you again." Tord went on, messing around with the teddy bear in his hands whilst simultaneously mocking Tom, as if to say:  _I got your precious bear, and you can't do sh#t about it!_  But Tom was more furious at the notion that the Commie went anywhere near the friends he was trying so hard to keep safe and was now parading freely in front of him without fear of any repercussions.

"Guess I can't really blame you for reacting the way that you did. But to be fair; you never specified the meaning of "near" when we made our deal. So as far as I know, "near" could mean one meter of distance." Tord reasoned with a shrug, stepping closer to Tom's frozen form.

The test subject could do nothing but watch as the Norsk towered over him. He couldn't even shrink back to put some space between the uncomfortable proximity they were in. Tom screamed internally when different types of hands, one made of skin and the other out of metal, cupped the sides of his face.  _Get off of me!_ Tom desperately wanted to slap the hands away from him but found himself still as a statue despite his attempts to struggle.

"However, though I know my word doesn't mean much to you, I can assure you I did not interact with them in any way." Tord continued speaking. "I admit, I did see them… but they were a well good ten meters away from where I was, and they had no idea I was there." He paused, his tone softening. "It just so happens that they were visiting your grave at the time."

Tom stopped his futile struggles and listened.

"They wanted to give your  _precious_  Tomee bear back to its rightful owner, and so they left it by your tombstone." Tord went on. "Me, watching the entire scene from far away, thought to myself right then:  _"Hm… It sure would be a pity to leave my test subject's most prized possession to rot here when all Edd and Matt want is to give it back. So why not fulfil their wish?"_  So I went ahead and took it as soon as they left." He clarified, peering into Tom's unique, dark eyes. "So you see? I haven't infringed our deal at all! Even though you never specified the terms of "near", I did keep my word and never interacted with them. Which means that our deal still stands in full."

 _Edd and Matt are still safe._ Understanding slowly dawned on Tom, and his temper cooled significantly. _And they… miss me?_ He felt touched by the implication. Unfortunately, he couldn't quite appreciate the notion with Tord still holding his face and infringing his personal space like that.

As if he had been reading his thoughts, Tord pulled away from him, and Tom breathed a small sigh of relief. "Now that everything is cleared up, I am going to release you from your paralysis, and you  _won't_ attack me." He instructed carefully. "Then you can either accept the gift I so generously fetched for you or refuse it; whichever you prefer. But one wrong move, and you're going to regret it. Am I clear?"

An awkward silence met his words. Tom couldn't speak or nod, so they just stood there until Tord realized that for himself and face palmed. "Uh… make a noise if you understand." Tord repeated.

He heard a low grunt from the eyeless man in response. Satisfied, Tord pressed the same button on his arm and set Tom free from his statue-like state.

"Ah! You f#cker!" Tom cursed loudly as soon as he could move again. Feeling his muscles were stiff, like he'd just been electrocuted, Tom made quick work to check all his limbs were working properly by stretching and gently massaging them.

Tord grinned, happy he managed to bring out the good old Tom he found so endearing to pester.

_Endearing?_

_Fun!_  Tord corrected his thoughts, growing increasingly frustrated at himself at this point.  _This is getting ridiculous._

Choosing to ignore his traitorous thoughts for now and deal with them later, Tord offered the odd teddy bear out to Tom again. The eyeless man paused in his ministrations and regarded Tomee bear with a suspicious stare. He looks up at Tord with the same look; as if to ask him  _"no more tricks?"_

Tord nodded encouragingly.

Tom narrowed his eyes but reached for the stuffed bear regardless. As soon as he had his cherished teddy bear out of the Norsk's grasp and into his own, Tom was hit with an immense wave of emotions. Tomee bear had been a gift from his father, and since his death, Tom had taken great lengths to cherish the bear by keeping it close to him at all times. Now that he is stuck in this forsaken base, and will most likely die here as well, Tomee bear now serves as a reminder for his friends too.

Tom hugged the plush tightly to his chest and nuzzled it. He could care less if he was being vulnerable in front of Tord right now. The Commie has no emotional connection to the bear whatsoever, and by god, Tom is  _not_  going to be ashamed to cherish the hell out of it even more.

Tord watched the scene with growing fondness and a small smile on his face.  _Even after all these years…_ He thought warmly.  _He still loves that stuffed bear with all his heart._ He felt a familiar, but not at all unpleasant tingle in his chest.

"Thanks."

Tord snapped out of his thoughts when Tom spoke to him, albeit reluctantly judging by his low tone of voice. The Norsk flushed in embarrassment. "Oh! Uh y-you're welcome?" He stuttered, and immediately cringed.  _Today is not going the way that I expected._ He recomposed himself and cleared his throat, lifting his chin with an air of authority to him. "Yes- anyway, I have pressing matters to attend to at the moment, so I'll leave you be to your peaceful solitude." He said, recovering from his slip up with what he deemed sufficient grace.

"You do that…" Tom muttered.

Without another word, Tord quickly stepped out of the room and let the door hiss shut behind him. He let out a long sigh of exasperation and pinched the bridge of his nose.  _Damn it all!_ Tord cursed, his jaw clenched.

He began to put as much distance between himself and Tom's quarters, quickening his pace in longer strides as he headed for the elevator, whilst continuously chastising himself for being caught off guard by his weak emotions.

"This doesn't change anything." Tord kept telling himself under his breath. "I lived just fine with these emotions before, and that doesn't mean I'll go soft-hearted now. I'll just have to stay as far away from Tom until his training begins; I can easily neglect these feelings again until then."  _And maybe Paul, just in case._ Tord isn't taking any chances. He can't go back to be who he once was – that version of him isn't strong enough to face the future he'd planned ahead. Red Leader, on the other hand, is powerful. To lead his army to glory and achieve his goals, he must be more like the Red Leader he had envisioned, and less like the weak dork that he had vowed he would never be again.

 _Friendship and love are worthless to me in the long run._  Tord reminded himself sternly.  _There'll come a day when I'll be so powerful, I'll have no need for anyone else. And when that day comes, the world will bow down to me._  He smirked wickedly at the thought.

However, his thoughts came to an abrupt stop when he turned the corner only to bump into a very livid looking Patrick. The General's eyes flashed at him.

"What's this Paul tells me?" Pat demanded. "Is it true that you are going to train Tom as a soldier without consulting us first?"

 _Faen._  Tord cursed his luck.

**(Meanwhile…)**

Rain fell steadily, drumming on the hard pavement that led between unending rows of city blocks. From time to time a car thundered past, its headlights glaring, and people scurried along their merry way to escape the rainstorm.

Wearing the hood over his head and both his hands stuffed in his pockets, Edd looked both ways and hurriedly crossed the street when he deemed safe enough to proceed.

Harsh yellow light angled across him, and he flinched as a car roared around the corner, throwing up a wave of filthy water that reeked of rubbish. Edd let out a startled yelp as the water slopped around his feet and the spray splashed his clothes.

"Argh, great." Edd muttered sarcastically, looking down at his wet clothes.

Despite his current condition, Edd was excited to be out here. When his disastrous evening with Matt didn't go the way they had been expecting to, Edd was looking forward to meeting with Reagan and spend some quality time away from all his problems. He really needed to catch a break.

Barely visible through the clouds, the moon was at its height by the time the Harrybrook hotel came into view. Edd hurried his step, eager to get this night going. He reached the foyer of the hotel and looked around for Reagan but found no signs of him anywhere. Edd frowned.  _Is he getting ready still?_

Pulling his phone out Edd quickly began to type in a text.

**(EG): Hey!**

**(EG): I'm here**

**(EG): Wh-**

"EDDIE!"

A loud voice practically shouted in his ears and a pair of hands came down and clutched his shoulders in a tight, and sudden grip. Edd did not budge or react in any way. He raised one eyebrow, evidently not impressed and looked over his shoulder.

"Hey Reagan." He greeted casually, not fazed by the Irishman's attempts of scaring him.

Reagan frowned. "Wha- ? You didn't get scared?"

Edd shrugged. " _Meh._  Kind of hard to get scared when you greet me the exact same way every time we go hang out together."

Reagan placed one hand over his own chest, where his heart should be. "Are you calling me predictable?"

The brunet smirked. "Well, I'm not calling you original, so…"

The Irishman let out a fake, exaggerated gasp before narrowing his eyes. "So that's how it is then? Well… I guess this means I just have to try harder from here on out." His mesmerizing green eyes glowed with mirth. "That's quite alright; I am always up for a challenge. But I'm warning you now – you're going to regret it."

Edd laughed. "Ooh! I am  _terrified_!"

A large grin stretched across Reagan's face. "It's sure good to see you, buddy." He chuckled, giving a tap on Edd's shoulder so hearty that it almost pushed the brunet off balance. "What do you say we go to a pub and drink, maybe eat some fries, and do some stupid sh#t together?"

"Sounds good to me."

"Alrighty then!"

Reagan looped his arm around Edd's shoulders, bringing the Brit closer to him as they began to head down the street; jovially laughing along the way.

Following their initial meeting several weeks back, with Edd agreeing to be Reagan's guide for the duration of his cryptic job; they began spending more casual time together. It mostly consists of them goofing about, doing stupid stuff, and Edd showing the Irishman around town.

They walked though the dim, rainy streets for a while, not caring for the bad weather going on around them. Occasionally Edd would stop and point out something about the town to Reagan, going over briefly about the locations they strolled past before carrying on their way.

They came across a bar and decided to settle there. Reagan burst in with vigorous delight, his green eyes bright like a child's in a candy store as he sat in one of the stools at the bar stand. Edd followed suit a little slower. He checked his surroundings wearily, inspecting the other bystanders in the establishment before taking a seat next to Reagan.

Edd's no stranger to bars. He just doesn't go to them very often.

The bartender asked for their orders.

"Beer. Just beer. Any beer. Doesn't matter just as long is it is beer." Reagan told the middle-aged man behind the counter.

The barkeep raised one eyebrow, and then turned to Edd.

"Iced cola for me, please."

Reagan appeared to scoff and throw him an incredulous look as the bartender left to go get their drinks. "Cola? Really?"

"What?" Edd turned to him in confusion.

"Dude, you now that I'm the one paying, right?" The Irishman continued. "You can have anything you want, and you go for cola?"

Edd shrugged. "I am not much of a drinker."

The blonde man tsked. "Aiight, if that's what you are most contented with that's fine by me." He nudged the Brit's elbow with his own and sent a wink his way. "But hey, if you ever change your mind I'll be glad to abide."

Edd opened his mouth to reply when the bartender returned with their drinks in hand. Reagan immediately downed his drink in one swig and slammed the glass back on the table. "Another." He licked his lips clean.

Edd chuckled quietly in amusement.  _Reagan sure likes his beer._ He thought, taking sip of cola. He churned the dark beverage in his glass, his smile faltering.  _He's a bit like Tom, in a way._ His heart twisted with a suddenand terrible ache in his chest.

Thoughts of earlier events that day returned to the front page of his mind, and they soured any semblance of good humor he had. Edd sighed.

"Why the long face, Eddie?" Reagan asked, snapping Edd out of his thoughts. "You look as if you got plenty in your mind."

"You have no idea." The brunet mused bitterly.

"Would you like to share with  _moi_?" Reagan offered, tapping one of his fingers against the marble table in a rhythmic fashion.

Edd bit the inside of his lips unsurely. Although they would tend to tap into heavier subjects once in a while; for the most part, these nightly outings served solely as a good distraction. However, its not like he has anyone else to talk to about these things. Matt is too gullible and dim-witted to comprehend what Edd's main issue is. Reagan is an outsider who could perhaps have a better angle at things.

"Where to even begin?" He breathed out tiredly and rubbed his own face.

Through the gap between his fingers, he saw a glass of beer slide across the counter and stop perfectly in front of him. Edd blinked and glanced at the Irishman sitting by his side. Reagan nodded toward the beverage encouragingly. "Let's start with loosening up a little bit."

Edd raised an eyebrow skeptically. Again; he has had beer before, and although he didn't dislike it was far from being one of his favorites drinks. However, the blond's offer still enticed him. Surely one glass won't harm anyone?

Making his mind up, Edd grabbed the glass determinably and tipped back his head and started to consume the bitter beverage.

"Chug! Chug! Chug!" Reagan chanted beside him, edging him on until Edd drank the entire glass. "Wooo!"

The brunet wiped away the foam from his face with the back of his coat's sleeve, clicking his tongue to taste the remnants of beer in his mouth. Edd sighed. "It's just… some stupid neighbors moved into my building today."

Reagan raised an eyebrow, his attention peaked with interest. "Oh? What kind of neighbors?" He questioned. "The lousy type? Party animals? Junkies? The lewd type?"

A shiver of disgust rippled down Edd's spine at the thought and he cringed. There's no way in hell he is going to keep the imagery in his head for the reminder of the night. He gestured the bartender forward and ordered a beer for himself. Just in case.

"No. It's nothing like that." He explained. "My friends and I used to be neighbors with them before. But we weren't exactly in friendly terms back then."

"Rivals eh? Sounds fun." The Irishman bent forward to listen closely. This information may prove useful, after all.

"Not really." Edd muttered. "But the thing is…" How can he explain this next part without going into much depth? "There was a gas leak in both of our houses and they blew up." He half-lied. He wasn't going to admit the true events of that day to anyone outside of that incident. There were too many risks, and the memory still hurt. "We haven't seen each other since that day, and now that we are neighbors again I have no idea what our current stand is."

"Why would it have changed at all since then?" Reagan narrowed his eyes.

Edd flinched. He took a sip of his cola to calm his nerves, but dread was still eating away at him. Had he known  _his_ true nature then, Edd would've never allow  _him_ to return. "Because the gas leak was kind of my fault." He gulped. "And one of my neighbors – there were three of them then – died that day because of it."

He waited for a shocked gasp to reach his ears. Instead, Reagan stared steadily back at him and sort of nodded in understanding. "Awkward." He took a sip of his beer.

Edd looked at him in disbelief. "Woah, you are taking this surprisingly well all things considered." He pointed out.

"Meh." Reagan shrugged unimpressed. "Accidents tend to happen all the time. I've kind of grown used to it by now, and so nothing really fazes me anymore."

Truth be told, Reagan knows Edd just lied to his face. The guarded and uncertain tone in the Brit's voice gave him away. Although he was curious to learn what really happened, Reagan wasn't about to push his luck just yet. He needs to establish a stronger bond with his target before he can get to the juicy, tragic bits and use them against him. Though he assumes it has something to do with the charred ruins where he first made contact with the brunet.

Still, he'll let that obvious little lie slide. For now.

"Well, anyway." Reagan went on as normal. "Can't say that I blame you for feeling the way that you do with them back in your life." He grinned inwardly. "What about your friends, what do they think of the situation?"

The reaction he wanted was instantaneous. Although Edd didn't outright flinch, Reagan did feel him tense up next to him, and it took everything he had in him to keep down the Cheshire-grin that threatened to stretch out across his face.

Edd's breath wavered and he tried to steady himself. "Matt knew they were moving in."  _In Tom's apartment._ He did not dare complete the sentence out loud.

"And he didn't even tell you?" Reagan exclaimed, pretending to be shocked.

The Brit mentioned his ginger-haired companion to him before, and from what he heard so far, this Matt fellow wasn't going to be a threat to his goals. But he needed to sever that bond in order to make Edd more susceptible to his manipulation. He doesn't have to break them apart completely; but where was the fun in that?

Reagan shot him a sympathetic glance. "He doesn't sound like much of a friend to me." He observed. "I mean, what kind of friends keep things from each other?"

Edd felt a tinge of defensiveness at the Irishman's words.  _After all, Reagan doesn't really know Matt._

"He's a great friend." He responded. "But… well, things haven't been the same between us since-" He bit down on his own tongue, holding the words before they could get out.

"Since?" Reagan prompted curiously.

Edd shifted in his seat uncomfortably. Could he really say something so heavy and personal to Reagan? The Irishman has certainly been a great deal of fun over these past few weeks; helping him move from his grief and let him forget his problems. But Edd wasn't quite confident in entrusting Reagan with this information yet.

 _But I promised I would get over and move on._ He recalled.  _If I can't even say this out loud, am I doing any progress at all?_

Edd tensed, his hands clenching into fists. He knew what he wanted to say, but the words seemed stuck in his throat like a hard piece of candy, and were just as difficult to dislodge.

"Before our friend died." He admitted at last, thinking longingly of the time when he, Matt, and Tom went in all kinds of crazy adventures together. The tension in his shoulders relaxed as he let go of the long-held grief.

The blond man's expression fell, and he cast his gaze to the ground. "Oh. I'm… sorry to hear." He murmured sympathetically. "I didn't mean to – I mean, you don't have to-"

"It's fine." Edd cut him off. "It's been a few months since, but I guess neither of us really got over it."

The Irishman was silent for a while, his green eyes staring at the brunet with a calculating gaze; whilst concealing his true face inside.  _Wonder how he would react if he learned that I'm the one behind his freaky friend's death?_ He mused with mirth. As fun as the idea would be, Reagan can't let him know that dirty little secret just yet. He needs Edd to join the Red Army first, or he would never get that promotion.  _Maybe a few years from now, when we're both deep into the global domination schemes, I could tell him. Ha. He'll probably laugh when all is said and done._

Recomposing himself, Reagan cleared his throat to stifle the bout of giggles that bubbled inside of him. "Anyways, about the neighbors…" He continued from where the main topic left off. "I understand how weird this situation is, but do try to play it cool and keep a low profile." Edd turned to him, listening to his advice intently. "I mean, why should you have to feel guilty for what happened? It's not like you intended to kill the poor guy!"

"Of course not!" Edd snapped. Then he paused, his humor deflating as he recalled encounter with Eduardo earlier. "When I crossed paths with them today, they weren't hostile toward me. They were… okay? I guess? But the whole thing just felt weird to me, and I have no idea what it means for our stances with each other."

Reagan contemplated for a second, his lips pursed. "Do you reckon that maybe they know what happened to your friend?" He asked. "And because of that they think you are on equal ground? Like a: "now you know how I felt back then" kind of deal?"

Edd tensed. The Irishman's words filled him with apprehension. Could Reagan be right? Eduardo  _does_  seem like the type of person who would find justice in such situation. But surely even Eduardo wouldn't find enjoyment in this? Edd shook the thought away. "I d-don't know." He stammered. "Everything's so confusing at the moment."

Reagan chugged down his third glass of beer. "Don't sweat it, buddy." He gestured toward the untouched beer Edd had ordered a while ago. "Just tip back your head and drink your worries away. You seriously need to relax."

The Brit glanced at his drink then back to his companion. "God, I'm so sorry." A flash of guilt flared up inside of him. "We came out here to have fun and I spoiled the whole evening by rambling about my problems."

He was about to apologize again when a finger came up to his lips and shushed him. "Less talking, and more drinking." Reagan told him playfully stern.

They clinked their drinks together, sat back, and drank their fill of the bitter beverage. By the time he got all of it down, Edd was feeling tipsy and he swayed a little from side to side.

"By the way, you never quite told me what your job actually is." The brunet pointed out, his words slurred.

"I haven't?" Reagan put his elbow on the table and leaned against his hand, looking at the Brit though half-lidded eyes as the alcohol started to take effect. "I am an entertainer. I thought that much was obvious by now."

"Oh! Like a comedian or a magician?" Edd asked, taking a sip of his cola next to balance out the alcohol in his system.

Reagan grinned slyly. "Not  _that_  type of entertainment, silly Eddie. I mean that I am a stripper." His smile grew wider as Edd choked and spat out his drink. He burst into a fit of laughter and slammed his hand repeatedly on the counter. "Haha! Oh man, you should've seen the look on your face! Haha!" He wiped away a stray tear from his eyes.

"H-ha- haha yeah." Edd laughed weakly whilst coughing. He could feel his throat burn badly from the intensity of choking on soda. He beat his own chest a couple of times to clear the airways. "G-good one."

Reagan's laughter died away. "But seriously though, I can't tell you what it is." He told the brunet. "I would if it were up to me, but since it is kind of a work policy not to reveal it out in public, I can't."

"Woah, are you a secret agent of some kind?"

"Can't quite answer that either – It goes against the company's policy, remember?" Reagan shrugged and laughed, teasing the Brit further.

They went back to drinking and chatting merrily. Reagan kept urging Edd to drink more and more, making the brunet relax and put down the sealed tight, steel walls he surrounded himself in. The Irishman payed very close attention to Edd's ramblings about his life; especially the part concerning his friends and his fears of losing every single person he ever cared about, and how he won't be able to stand if anything happened to the ginger doofus.

All that vital information Reagan saved away for later reference.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ho. Ly. Shit.
> 
> I did it! It took forever but I managed somehow! This has now broken the record as the lengthiest chapter I have ever written. Will I beat this record again? Probably. But anyway; so yes – Eduardo and Mark are now part of the story. Wonder what sort of role they'll play in all of this. Also, quick disclaimer: I know they seem a little OOC, especially Eduardo. But you got to keep it in mind that he lost a friend too, and it's been at least a year since they've last seen Edd and Matt. It's a pretty long time for someone to contemplate. Reagan has been planting seeds of doubt and fear in Edd's head. Matt has no idea what he's doing. And Tord likes to think f himself as this benevolent figure of power but is still a flustered dork with a pretty big crush deep down.
> 
> Kind of a mini rant but am I the only one who sees Eduardo as more than just a bully? I mean, I know that's what he is in the show. He is a foil for Edd. But there is so much more to him than being just a bully character. PowerEdd showed that he does care for Edd (somewhat anyway), and in The End we get a glimpse of a more sensitive side of him when he mourned Jon. So there is a lot more to him than meets the eye, and I always get a little frustrated when fics don't take that into consideration and just keep him as a bully that never changes. Eduardo may be an a-hole, but he's not one hundred percent a dick. (Guardians of the galaxy reference for the win!) At least that's what I think.
> 
> Check out the official art for MLTS juh-britto made right here: http://juh-britto.tumblr.com/post/155701288055/witness-the-result-of-late-night-brainstorming
> 
> http://juh-britto.tumblr.com/post/169786432525/heather1815-there-you-go-your-asshole-son
> 
> I'm moving away to live by myself tomorrow… I'm not ready to adult yet. (: haha


End file.
